


Shadow Dance

by luxrva



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: 20yo+, F/F, Hockey, Slow Burn, University AU, don't expect much, eventually smut u know me, figure skating, i like horsies, long boi, second year university, some rare pairs for your reading pleasure, sponsored by bourbon and white claw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxrva/pseuds/luxrva
Summary: Once upon a time, Akko and Diana were best friends... until tragedy tore them apart.A once aspiring Olympic figure skater, Diana Cavendish returns to Toronto, CA to attend Luna Nova University for both the renowned figure skating program and to study medicine with the hopes of eventually taking over her mother's local hospital. There, she's reunited with her childhood best friend Akko Kagari--now Captain of the Luna Nova Hockey team--and the two must come to terms with what their relationship once was and, ultimately, what it will become.a story that isnt for kami-sama stop micromanaging my typos
Relationships: Diana Cavendish/Atsuko "Akko" Kagari
Comments: 230
Kudos: 294





	1. And They Were Roommates

**CHAPTER ONE**

AND THEY WERE ROOMATES

* * *

_DIANA_

* * *

The hands that were clutched in her thin fingers were nearly frozen, but the red eyes that stared into her own brought warmth to the biting cold of the ice rink. Akko wore a look of both concentration and a hint of fear as she tentatively stepped forward in her borrowed skates, each movement jagged and stumbling, but Diana held on tight as she skated slowly backwards, her knees bending slightly to keep the steady momentum she needed to urge her friend forward.

“I’m going to eat shit,” Akko moaned, staring down at her feet and the well-used old figure skates that had been worn by so many people Diana didn’t even want to think about it. “I totally don’t know how you do this without falling down every five seconds.”

“You grow accustomed to it,” Diana replied, chuckling as Akko flashed wide eyes up from her skates. She tripped over the front stopper but quickly righted herself when Diana’s arm flew forward on instinct, grasping her by the waist and steadying her with the expertise of a girl who had grown up on the ice. “Careful. Try to stay on the middle of your feet. If you go forward onto your toes, you _will_ —” She paused, letting filthy words that her mother would never approve of linger on her tongue before letting them out. “Eat shit.”

“If you want to go off by yourself and practice I can just use the wall,” Akko said. She glanced across the arena at an older woman who was scooting slowly along while holding onto the side of the rink as two children, clearly hers, skated circles around her. “I know you need to work on your Salty Cows or whatever—”

“Salchow,” Diana corrected. “But it wouldn’t be wise to practice during public hour. You said you wanted to learn to skate, right? Well, I’m here for you. Not to practice.”

The warm eyes that met hers made her insides do the awkward and uncomfortable twist that they’d been doing of late. She’d been best friends with Akko Kagari for years, but only recently had that look brought her breath to a stop in her throat, made her cheeks flush with rising heat that was confusing at best. Akko was her best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

So why, when Akko flashed that signature half-smile, did Diana draw a sharp breath and look away?

Akko’s hands squeezed a little tighter. Diana wished she had worn her gloves—at least then there wouldn’t be skin on skin, at least then there wouldn’t be the blush rushing into her neck and cheeks that she was grateful could be explained away by the cold—but she had left them in her locker, not once even considering that they might be her saving grace from the reactions her body was having.

She honestly thought about letting go, if only for a moment, if only to catch her breath and let her mind return to the normalcy that was hanging out with her best friend and introducing her to the world of skating, but she knew that if she did Akko would likely trip over herself and crack her skull on the ice. Akko was just _like_ that. If there was a way to hurt herself, she would find it. It was almost a special skill and it was no wonder her parents kept first-aid kits just about everywhere feasible.

“How long did it take you to get used to this?” Akko asked, looking down once more to concentrate fully on the movement of sliding her blades over ice made choppy by kids skating in reckless circles and couples enjoying an evening date at the rink. “And how are you going _backwards_? No one else is going backwards.”

Diana smiled. “It’s easy once you get used to it. It feels quite natural.”

She suddenly felt the urge to show off, to let go of Akko and slide into easy crossovers and small jumps that would entertain even the most casual of figure skating viewers, but refrained. Humility was ingrained within her and, even if she wanted to show Akko what she could do, she held back. Her friend had attended a competition or two already, anyway.

“Try to stop looking down. Just feel the ice. One foot after the other. You’ll be skating circles around me by the end of the night.”

Akko burst out in a laugh so hard that she nearly fell over sideways and Diana had to catch her by the waist once more. She was well aware of how her breath seized when her thumb brushed against bare skin as Akko’s hoodie rose up and even more so of the hard swallow that accompanied. She let go as quickly as she could, returning her hand to Akko’s searching fingers and resuming their slow maneuver around the arena.

“Very funny,” Akko said, still laughing despite her near fall. “That’ll never happen. You’ve got the ice, I’ve got the ground.”

Diana loosened her grip, increasing her speed only slightly so that Akko would barely notice. “It may help if we talk about something. Just to take your mind off it. Skating comes a lot easier when you’re not fully focused on what your feet are doing.”

“You see what happens when I forget I have feet.”

“Akko.” Diana laughed. “I don’t think there has ever been a time when you knew you had feet, much less used them.”

“Oh, Cavendish the Comedian,” Akko joked back. “Let me know when your next show is so I can be there with a bag of tomatoes.”

“You would never throw tomatoes at me,” Diana said. Akko’s attention had quickly been pulled from watching her own feet and already they were moving more smoothly. Diana briefly glanced over her shoulder to make sure the ice was clear behind her, lest they run over a stray child. “Pickled plums, maybe.”

Akko shook her head, her eyes focused on the blue of Diana’s as she skated forward, her fingers relaxing into Diana’s palms. “I wouldn’t waste pickled plums on that. And, okay, you’re right. Your face is too pretty to be smashed with rotten tomatoes.”

_Your face is too pretty—_

Flames lit Diana’s cheeks and she looked away. At the mother, who was clambering off the ice in a desperation to get her feet on solid ground only to stumble awkwardly on the blades. At the children, who were laughing and pushing at each other as they raced back and forth along the outer edge of the rink. At a smaller child who had been given the walker and was being assisted by his father, who wore the gleeful smile of a parent capturing the moment in his mind.

And she looked back at Akko, at the girl she had known for so many years, who she had come to consider part of her family, her rock when things got bad and, recently, even worse. At pale lips, slightly blue from the cold, that smiled at her in a way that she gave no one else. At eyes that captured her own and held, lingered, _spoke_ , but the language was one that Diana was unfamiliar with and so the word fell upon the deaf ears of the ignorant.

“How’s Mum?” Akko asked after a moment that seemed much longer than it was and, if Diana were to be asked, could have gone on. But the words, nearly a whisper between them as they skated together, made her quickly look down.

“She’s—” Alright? Okay? Getting by?

Diana wanted to say one of those but none of them fit. Her mother was not alright. She was not okay. She was not getting by. Just that morning she had coughed so much blood into the sink that Diana had honestly thought she had hemorrhaged, but she’d insisted on going into the office anyway. It wasn’t as though she had much say in the matter. Fourteen year olds had no sway with a parent who prioritized duty over health.

“Not good, then, eh?” Akko smiled sadly. “Anything I can do? I’m sure Okaasan would be happy to bring yakisoba or something so she doesn’t have to cook.”

Diana shook her head, catching Akko once more just as the girl started to falter in stride. “You do plenty, Akko.” She flushed. “And Okaasan cooked for us four times last week already. I feel awful.”

“Well, she honestly thinks you’re going to starve to death if you don’t eat more.” Akko laughed, patting Diana on the head and ruffling her hair the slightest bit, earning a small trip for her efforts. “She thinks you’ve already got a growth stunt.”

“I don’t—” Diana huffed, her blush deepening with the touch. “I eat plenty,” she lied, because she only ate when she absolutely had to. “I’m just short.”

“If you count eating as, like, half a carrot and that gross sausage stuff—”

“Black pudding.”

Akko snorted. They were going faster now, her blades sliding easily over the jagged ice. “Yeah, that.” She faked a shudder. “Gross.”

Diana opened her mouth to retort, but she never got the chance. Akko tipped forward onto her toes with the attempt at an exaggerated stroke of the blade, which instead resulted in catching the stopper on the ice. Her taller and definitely more awkward body lurched forward and, before Diana could catch her or even _try_ to stop the momentum, a very clumsy girl with aimlessly swinging limbs overpowered her.

“Akko—” Diana yelped.

They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs to the laughter of a few passing boys, who made sure to hockey stop right next to them and spray ice against the side of both of their faces.

“My bad, my bad!” Akko cried out. “Aww, my knee! Ow!”

“Your knee?” Diana moaned, her bones protesting the sudden impact of the ice and Akko’s body on top of her. “How about my entire body? Christ, you have the grace of a lame duck! Get up!”

“Hey.” Akko narrowed her eyes. Her face was close to Diana’s, far too close for comfort and far too close for her to be able to breathe. Stray strands of brunette hair fell in curtains around Akko’s slim face, tickling Diana’s forehead with each movement. She could feel flames licking her cheeks as she froze, blue eyes locked on flickering red. “I happen to think ducks are pretty cool.”  
“That’s not what I—”

Akko’s smile faltered. Her eyes grew wider, more serious, and she leaned slowly in, gaze flicking from Diana’s own intent stare to her cold, slightly chapped lips.

“Akko—”

Her breath caught.

At the last moment, when Diana thought—hoped?—what was happening was actually _happening_ , Akko ducked her head to the side, her nose tickling the shell of Diana’s ear as she let out a very loud, very obnoxious:

“Quack!”

Akko fell to the side, dissolving into raucous laughter at her own joke, ignorant to the waves that had been set in motion in Diana’s body as she lay on her back, both recovering from the internal roller coaster that she’d just ridden and the sheer embarrassment of even _thinking_ Akko would do that. The other girl’s body fell from Diana’s as she squirmed on the ice, ignoring an angry, “Get out of the way, idiots!” from an older teenager and, instead, laughing even louder.

Diana let herself smile. She shoved those confusing, intrusive thoughts back into the shadows of her mind where they belonged and instead embraced what was right in front of her: Akko, her best friend, the one person who would always _get_ her know matter what, the one person who could make her smile even when the world was falling apart around her.

And so, on her back on the cold ice surrounded by people who scowled as they passed by, she let herself forget, let herself focus on the moment and on Akko and on the good parts of life, and she laughed.

* * *

Her room was nearly empty, save for the few suitcases gently stacked to the side of her bedroom door. There wasn’t really much to pack—Diana didn’t have a whole lot in the way of material possessions—just clothes, textbooks, and the very few small mementos that served only as haunting flashbacks in her rear view mirror.

She was at the bottom drawer of her large dresser, quietly and meticulously sorting through clothes that she either wouldn’t wear or didn’t need. Breeches from riding were pushed carefully to the side—there would be no horseback riding at Luna Nova University—while old shorts and out-of-style shirts were placed to the side for donation. She had plenty of clothing and could easily purchase more, if needed.

The manor was nearly silent, the only sound being the creaking of windows against a heavy wind and the gentle and rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Aunt Daryl was out with Diana’s two cousins for their usual Saturday shopping spree, gleefully spending the earnings from the family practice that Diana’s own grandmother had founded. Aunt Daryl had little to do with Cavendish Medical—she’d even outsourced a director for the London division instead of taking on the job herself—and merely skimmed the top for her own personal gain. It was something Diana’s mother never would have allowed. But, seeing as her mother was no longer alive and Aunt Daryl had little to no respect for what Diana thought, there was nothing that could be done.

She sighed, her mind wandering through the dismal five years she’d spent in England. Five years where she’d had nothing to focus on but her studies and working around Aunt Daryl’s strict and unwarranted household policies. At least she’d had Anna, their housekeeper, to keep her company—though, as kind as Anna was, she could hardly be considered a friend.

The only escape was skating until she didn’t even have that any longer, when a simple double axel, one that she had long since mastered, had ended in a compound fracture of her fibula. Even then she went to the rink just to get away, to lean her crutches against the edge of the wall and watch the others practice, wishing that the boot on her ankle wasn’t holding her back from the one thing she loved, the one place she found solace, the one place she found escape from Aunt Daryl and the menial, dutiful life of a Cavendish.

“How is your packing coming along, my lady? Would you like any assistance?”

Diana glanced up to find Anna standing in her doorway, arms folded across her midsection, the smallest hint of a smile almost out-of-place across her thin lips. The manor had been so quiet that Diana had almost forgotten that Anna was still present.

“I think I’m nearly finished,” Diana said, rocking back onto her heels and wincing at the weight on her ankle, still weak and unsteady even after two surgeries and more titanium rods than she could count. “Thank you, though, Anna.”

Anna nodded. Her smile fell back into the usual expression of neutrality. “Supper will be ready in an hour, pending the return of Lady Daryl. Will you be joining us this evening?”

Diana didn’t want to. She never did. Supper was nothing more than small talk and backhanded slights from both her aunt and cousins, but there was nothing more she could do than swallow their tasteless words with a meal just as bland as her life had become. But it was her duty to be there, as the future head of the household, if only to uphold the appearances of the person she was expected to become.

“Yes, Anna. I will. Thank you.”

The retreat of footsteps told her the short conversation was over. With a sigh, she turned back to the drawer, removing yet another older pair of dress pants that could go into the donation pile.

But there was something beneath them—something she hadn’t seen for quite some time—and with a sharp intake of breath and eyes that slowly widened with curiosity and remembrance, Diana’s fingers tentatively closed around the small book that had long since been forgotten, painful memories purposely hidden from view among a drawer of clothing rarely worn.

She ran her fingers over the cover, over letters coated in silver glitter that came off with her delicate touch. Akko had made this scrapbook—and another for herself, to match—to fill with pictures of a friendship that was supposed to last. That _should_ have lasted, had Diana not done the dumbest thing ever to end it. The very thought of her actions made her cringe, her nose crinkling with distaste at the memory, but even so she slowly flipped open the thick cover of the hand-made book.

On the inside, an inscription from Akko in the hand-writing that had become so foreign but seemed so familiar. It was the tidiest thing about Akko by far, and Diana felt the old envy of her neat handwriting slowly return.

_Good morning, Angel!_

Diana smiled, letting herself chuckle. She could still hear the ring in Akko’s voice, the slow drawl of the repetitive greeting when her friend caught sight of her in the morning. It was from one of their favorite movies—Charlie’s Angels, but the older one—and Diana would always echo back, like a songbird returning a call:

_“Good morning, Angel.”_

She whispered the words, her mouth moving slowly over a line that tasted of time and distance and fractured friendship, and read on.

_I made this for us so that we can always remember the good times of being kids, even when stuff gets hard and we have to pay taxes and work and all that other stupid adult stuff. This is all stuff I’ve collected over the years. We can add more as we go, ‘cause we’ve got nothing but time, right? Best friends forever is a lifetime contract, and don’t you forget it._

_Don’t worry, I’ve got my own book, too!_

_Love you like the sun comes up,_

_Your partner in fighting crime!_

_Akko._

Love you like the sun comes up.

She could still hear those words, cheerful and upbeat as they left Akko’s lips with the carefree ease of someone who had never known the loss of love. They rang in her ears on repeat, like the steady drone of tinnitus but _worse_ because it made her heart ache with the knowledge she would never hear them again.

And Diana wondered, as she swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, if Akko still said them… but to someone else.

She turned the page. She didn’t want to, but curiosity had a mind of its own and this was a break from packing, a break from thinking about the future and the world she would be returning to.

A world that once had Akko.

Did it still?

The first page was filled with faded and worn movie tickets, some slowly coming loose from the glue that held them there and holding on only just. Star Wars: The Force Awakens, which Diana only went because Akko wanted to see it. She recalled sitting there next to her best friend, staring at a movie screen that made little sense to someone who had never seen any film from the series before, only conscious of the soft skin of an arm propped up next to hers on the rest. Of Akko, staring intently at the movie with those wide, childlike eyes as she slid one piece of popcorn at a time into her mouth, working each slowly and pensively as though she could barely concentrate on chewing. Of the flashing lights of the movie that lit a story through her red eyes.

There was Poltergeist, where Diana had hidden behind her hands for most of the movie because horror was nothing she enjoyed and instead suffered, with a fond smile on her face, a slew of taunts from Akko afterwards.

The Fault In Our Stars. That one was Diana’s idea, because she’d read the book and loved it, and though Akko joked on her for liking such a “Stupid Girly Drama”, her friend had cried through most of the movie and then had to suffer through _Diana’s_ taunts afterwards.

And Room.

Diana swallowed.

Room had been her favorite. Not because of the plot, though it _was_ a good movie. She didn’t know who had wanted to see that movie or if they just went to the theater, like they often did just to get away from parents and the bustling streets of Toronto, and picked whichever one started next. She just remembered watching, her heart in knots at the realization that, while fictional, it could have been one of them, it _could_ have been her or Akko kidnapped and suffering while the world around them went on, and she didn’t know what she would do if Akko suddenly disappeared, if Akko was taken from her—

Akko’s finger had brushed against the back of her hand and, with a heart that pounded in her ears louder than the audio from the movie, Diana had slowly coasted her fingers over that soft, warm palm and linked their fingers together. They had sat like that, gripping one another until the lights came on and they inevitably broke apart. It was an act that they didn’t talk about later, it had just _happened_ , a single moment trapped in that theater, forgotten in time.

But Diana remembered it now, and the warmth spread beneath her skin just like it did in that moment when she felt Akko’s hand tighten around her own.

There were more—more movies than Diana ever recalled seeing—but she couldn’t remember exact moments aside from being able to sit next to her best friend and just enjoy a world that was not their own. A world where her mother wasn’t sick, where she could fall into the life of someone else but still have her favorite person at her side.

The next page held a four-leaf clover, dried and brittle but held to the page by layers of tape, that Diana had found for Akko one day before school in the modest patch of grass outside. She had been scouring forever (well, days, at least) for a sign of that lucky little weed because Akko had a maths test coming up and was afraid she’d fail.

Diana had found it on their walk to school, the very same day as the test. She remembered seizing it with frantic glee and presenting it to Akko, who stared at it, wide-eyed, with a bewildered, “How did you even find that? Gosh,” and Diana’s heart had fluttered and she’d said, “Magic,” even though it wasn’t magic at all but… well, sheer luck.

And Akko had passed her test, but _that_ wasn’t luck, even though she insisted it was because of the clover.

There was a candy wrapper, though Diana couldn’t remember what it meant. A torn off part of a note they’d passed during class where Diana had written, in her sketchy and sideways script that she absolutely abhorred, “Love you like the moon goes down,” and a magazine cut-out of Taylor Swift because they both _loved_ Taylor Swift.

And then there were pictures.

So many pictures.

She and Akko at Diana’s eleventh birthday party, if it could even be called that because only Akko and her parents had shown up. A taller Akko’s arm was draped around Diana's shoulders, fingers thrown up in a peace sign as a broad, carefree grin lit her face. She’d been smiling, too, because it was the first time somebody other than her mother had even cared about her birthday.

There was a picture of the two of them riding the same horse in Southern Ontario in the summer, Akko’s red eyes wide with terror and Diana’s head tilted back in a laugh. Side-by-side with their mothers on the first day of a new school year. At a parade in downtown Toronto, Akko’s mouth opened wide around a massive fistful of cotton candy while Diana side-eyed her with her own modest bite. Laughing on the floor of Akko’s bedroom, which was plastered with anime posters and trinkets and stuffed animals, a far cry from Diana’s very plain childhood room. Akko by herself doing a handstand right before she ate it and gave herself a black eye on her own fist (for which Diana had chided her for at least a week). Working on a school play.

They went on.

Their last one was by itself on its own page. They were fifteen and Akko was nearly a head taller than Diana. Their arms were draped around each other’s waists as they stood close. Akko was wearing a short red dress that flowed around knees bruised from God-knew-what, her long brunette hair styled with curls and draping over the thin straps and the slightly jutting collarbone. Diana’s own dress was pale blue, a little longer, with a wide neck and short sleeves that gently hugged the top of her biceps.

She still had that dress.

Diana bit her lip, traced her fingers around the edge of the photograph.

_“Are you going to Homecoming?” Akko had asked one night after studying—well, attempting, on Diana’s part—for an upcoming Biology exam. It was their grade 9 year and the dance had been the whisper-mill of the hallways and tossed notes for the better part of weeks. In all honesty, Diana was very tired of hearing about it, and that was mostly because no one had asked her to go._

_Not that there was anybody she would say yes to._

_“Probably not,” she’d answered, glancing up only briefly before returning to her notes and highlighting a few important molecules. “No one’s asked and I should probably study, anyway.”_

_“Study?” Akko laughed. “On Homecoming night? What would you be studying for?”_

_Diana shrugged. “I don’t know. Midterms, perhaps.”_

_“Midterms are a month and a half away.”_

_“A month and a half will be tomorrow in a month and a half.”_

_Akko sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “That makes zero sense. You’re way too much of an overachiever, Diana.”_

_Diana had grunted a reply and gone back to studying, but the topic of Homecoming weighed heavy on her mind. Akko had become rather popular at school in the past year—she was super athletic, and cute, and so positive and friendly that hardly anyone could resist her charm—and so there_ had _to have been someone to come forward. There was no way there couldn’t have been. Akko was friends with everybody._

_Diana’s highlighter froze over words she didn’t even know why she was marking and she looked up, nibbling at some loose skin on her bottom lip and tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She watched Akko for a long moment as the girl crouched low over her notes, clearly sketching another Totoro instead of studying._

_“Has, um—” Diana paused, swallowed, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. “Has anyone asked you?”_

_“Oh, yeah.” Akko perked up, her bangs swaying across her forehead as she looked up from her drawing. “Chris asked the other day. And Avery asked last week if I wanted to go with her crowd.”_

_The familiar anchor of loneliness sank in Diana’s stomach._

_“Oh.”_

_“I told them no. Chris is weird, and Avery’s friends are, well, kinda… I dunno.” She shrugged. “Plain, I guess.”_

_The anchor floated up and the constricting feeling in her throat lessened._

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah.” Akko rocked back on her heels. She stuck the tip of her pen into the corner of her mouth and rolled it, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she studied Diana’s face. “I didn’t know if you were going or not and I really don’t want to go without you. It’s kind of a big thing, you know?”_

_Diana hoped, more than anything, that her best friend couldn’t make out the pink dust that quickly found its way into her cheeks. Personally, she didn’t think Homecoming was a big deal. It was just something they would forget in time and the narrowing space of more memories._

_She just nodded, white noise creeping into her head as Akko gave her that sly smile that said, quite plainly, that she was devising something in her mind._

_“Wanna go together?”_

_Diana forced a chuckle. “I don’t think Chris would appreciate me being a third wheel, Akko.”_

_“No, no.” Akko shook her head feverishly. “Not with Chris. Or Avery. Or anyone. Just us. Together. You know.” Was Akko blushing? “As best friends.”_

_The noise in her head buzzed louder. She took a deep breath, glancing down at her notes and the highlighter that had squiggled a jagged line off to the side. She’d forgotten it was still touching the paper. “Just…” She turned her eyes back up to meet glistening red. “Us?”_

_“Well, yeah.” Akko’s smile faded and twitched. “If… if you’d want to go. I want to. It seems like a big thing to miss and, well…” She trailed off, dropping the pen from her mouth. “I’d rather experience that ‘big thing’ with you.”_

_“I—” Diana’s head felt light. She swallowed again, trying very hard to clear her mind and to breathe air that suddenly seemed so stifling in the heavy space between them. Akko was asking her to Homecoming. Okay, not as her_ date _, which Diana had denied over and over again that she even wanted in thoughts filled with jealous rage ever since the topic had started at school and every time some guy approached Akko. But Akko had still asked her to Homecoming with just her, which meant more than anything to Diana and the heart that was beating at a steadier rhythm than their school’s whole drumline._

_“Okay. Yes, I’ll go with you.”_

_Akko had sighed, had let a relieved smile slide across her pale lips as she nodded an affirmation._

_And the two had gone to Homecoming. They’d danced the night away, the fast songs with Akko’s awkward but carefree moves and Diana’s stylish grace from years of figure skating. The slow songs where they stayed close but not too close, talking and laughing over anything and everything._

_Though Akko’s many friends had come over to say hello, to compliment her dress or her hair or anything else they could think of, they didn’t linger long. Akko would merely smile and turn back to Diana._

_Because Akko had done what she had always done their entire friendship:_

_She had made Diana feel like she was the only one that mattered._

The creak of her door and a loud voice pulled Diana from her memories and she startled, dropping the small scrapbook back into the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.

“Apologies, Lady Diana.” Anna stood in the doorway, a kind smile barely registering across her aged face. Her long fingers found the handkerchief that she kept at her side, twirling it against her palm as she said, “I announced supper a bit ago. I suppose you didn’t hear. We’re waiting for you.”

“Oh. Right.” Diana cleared her throat, slamming the scrapbook shut and hiding it from Anna’s sight as she returned her own sheepish smile. “I’ll be right there. Thank you, Anna.”

Anna nodded, lingering for a brief moment before turning on her heels. Her shoes echoed against the hardwood floor of the long hallway, fading into the west wing.

Diana turned back to the memento, swallowing hard as she swiped a sweaty palm against her pants. She glanced at her already very full suitcase and debated, with a heart still throbbing with the proximity of the past and the frightful reality of the future, the slight gap between her clothes and the letters that she’d hidden in a side compartment.

Akko wasn’t her best friend any longer. Nor, as it stood, even an acquaintance. Whoever she was now was a stranger to Diana and she _knew_ that. She knew that Akko was gone, even though the promise of forever still lingered in a book of the past’s shadows, of empty words, of ghosts.

As it stood, she could stand to be haunted a little longer.

And so she tucked the small book into a space that hugged it perfectly.

* * *

Diana felt a whole lot of things, but none of them were good.

She felt disgusting and tired from the hours of travel that had started in England’s frosty early morning. She was frustrated with customs and all the people who seemed so entirely ignorant of just having their passports out, of treating border patrol with courtesy instead of guarded privilege. She was hungry, having had nothing but a rushed cup of tea and a single piece of toast before her ride to Leeds Bradford. She was grouchy—so bloody grouchy—and so by the time she made it to the baggage carousel in the overwhelming rush of travelers that was Toronto Pearson, she was ready to call it a day. The entire day had been a rush: from England to Amsterdam to Canada, the only peace she’d managed to muster was shoving her headphones over her ears and blasting a podcast to try to cut out the screams of a small child that seemed to be behind her on both flights.

But the day had only begun—quite literally, in Toronto—and she had so much to do before the gift of rest would come.

She hugged her carry-on closer to her side, wary of the onslaught of strangers and the many languages that filtered through her senses. French and Hindi, Russian and Chinese, quiet but cheerful Canadian and rushed and raucous American. Usually she would enjoy the collision of culture and the people-watching that came with it, but instead she found herself growing more irritable by the minute.

She pulled her mobile from her pocket and checked the time. Barely one, but it felt so much later. The skates in her bag—she was not going to trust baggage with something so precious as her Riedells—weighed heavy on her shoulder. She was well aware that she looked like absolute garbage, could feel the half-moons under her eyes and the grease making her wavy hair fall limp over her shoulders, but she didn’t much care.

Diana just wanted to get her luggage and go—

“Finally,” she sighed, delicately navigating around a large family to snag her modest black bag from the carousel.

She kept her belongings close as she winded between people oblivious in either their own exhaustion or their excitement to see waiting family members and friends. People greeted others with hugs, with laughter, sometimes with tears. Diana ignored it all. There would be no one waiting for her, save the Uber she’d arranged to take her from the airport to Luna Nova University.

When she was finally through the main doors she paused, thirstily drinking air much warmer than home—if Leeds could be called that. It tasted of city: of asphalt tar and car exhaust, of petrol and the occasional drift of fried food. It was a far cry from the country that she’d come to know, but everything rushed back to her as though she had never left at all, as though Leeds was the distant memory and she’d been in Toronto all along.

But she hadn’t.

As she settled into a leather backseat that reeked of cleaner and peered through the window at the scenery that passed slowly with traffic that she hadn’t missed, she felt out of place. Out of time. Everything was foreign and familiar all at once: the CN Tower that loomed gradually closer as they crept downtown, the dark masses of the TD Centre, the skyscrapers that stretched into the bright blue sky of early autumn. The city was open and flat, a stretch of nothing but grey concrete and shimmering office windows for miles ahead.

Ahead, as her driver turned off the main highway and onto the smaller roads that would lead away from downtown and into York, Diana could barely see the single building that meant the most to her:

CAVENDISH MEDICAL.

Her mother’s hospital—Aunt Daryl’s hospital, she internally corrected—looked the same as it did all those years ago. It seemed smaller somehow, but she supposed most things did when the world became larger, and she struggled to fight off the memories of walking those brightly lit, antiseptic scented halls with her mother. She closed her eyes and heard the distinctive sound of hospital doors, of moans and gasps, of nurses chatting and charting and typing, of the abrasive intercom that rang out all too frequently. Staff would stop what they were doing, no matter how busy they were, to greet her mother as though she was an old friend. They’d shake Diana’s hand or squeeze her shoulder and tell her how big she’d gotten, even though she knew it was a lie because she had stopped growing for a time.

Ah, if they could see her now. Now, they could say that and mean it.

“Drop you off here?” the driver said, and Diana came to the realization she hadn’t even noticed their arrival in front of a University bustling with activity.

“Right, yes. Of course. Here is fine,” Diana replied. She needed to get to the eastern dormitory but she wasn’t about to ask a driver anxious for more fare to fight through the narrow, densely packed street to find it.

Besides, she found it just fine. A simple ask from somebody who was clearly an RA—Diana could tell because she was looking quite overwhelmed as she stood before a tall building, clutching a nearly empty bottle of water and mopping sweat off her forehead—had pointed her in a direction that wasn’t far off. As she walked, the wheels of her bag catching in the cracks of the sidewalk with each step, she felt small. All around her were groups of friends, excited first-years with their parents still at their sides, people meeting for the first time over awkward handshakes and nervous laughter. Across a wide park that spread wide, the only green for miles in a world of concrete, settled-in students were tossing footballs or frisbees or having lunch beneath trees arranged in a perfect line down the bricked middle path.

A trickle of sweat coursed down the side of her face and she wished she had a free hand to roll up the sleeves of her button-up.

Diana lugged her bag up the many steps that led to her dormitory and upper-floor room, navigating halls crowded with new students and bags and boxes, until she found her room and the cool air hit her like a wall.

The room was modest, but at least it was renovated. Overhead lights cast a bright, fluorescent glow across freshly painted walls and brand new kitchen appliances. Even the dining table was rather modern—a small aluminum table that looked like something one would purchase in Ikea—and two small, colorful chairs. She was pleasantly surprised. The photos of the second-year rooms on the website had not been so flattering, though she supposed this _was_ one of the newer dormitories on campus. It was almost nice to finally be involved in the university atmosphere. A year of online schooling where physical therapy took up most of her time between classes was not exactly what she'd imagined.

The center of the small kitchen and dining area gave way into a narrow space that served as a common area, and there Diana found the furniture she was expecting. An aged leather sofa, which looked like it had seen more than its fair share of student abuse, was pushed up against the wall, only feet away from a donation-center worthy bookshelf that held, at least, a relatively new television. Not that she watched telly much—she much preferred to read a book or study—but not having to fight aged technology for the news would be very welcome.

Diana leaned her suitcase up against a cupboard, gently setting the bag holding her ice skates on the counter as she meandered further. On each side of the common area was a separate room, each with a twin bed, an old wooden desk, and a bookshelf. The rooms were tiny, nearly identically the size of the manor’s kitchen pantry, but she supposed that space wasn’t necessary. She was there to study medicine, not enjoy the best accommodations that Toronto had to offer—which were grossly expensive, even by her standards.

But there was one thing she was very, very grateful for.

Separate washrooms.

Not that she had a _problem_ with sharing a washroom if her roommate was hygienic and clean and all the things Diana expected a grown adult to be, but she knew very well that university was a combination of all kinds of people and her standards were not shared by everybody.

She was wondering which room to take, even though they were identical, when the main door swung open. Diana spun on a heel. Great, her roommate had arrived. That would very quickly settle the room debate.

A breathless girl just about fell inside, dropping a bag nearly the length of Diana’s body and heaving another that she’d been carrying on her back to the floor beside it. Diana observed with a raised eyebrow, genuinely impressed by the sheer strength that this shorter girl possessed. The dormitory didn’t have an elevator, meaning she’d had to lug all that up the stairs by herself.

“Hello,” Diana greeted. The girl was bent over herself, palms planted on tanned knees as she sucked in air. Sweaty bangs were plastered to her forehead and she moved to brush them away as she looked up. Diana immediately plastered on a generic smile. “I’m—”

The red eyes that met her own were unmistakably familiar and the instant shock of realization hit Diana much like that time she’d run full tilt into a very clean glass door.

“Uh. Um,” was all the other girl managed to sputter as she jolted upright. “Uh.”

She was shorter than Diana remembered—though, in her defense, Diana _had_ encountered a late growth spurt when she hit 18—and her hair was cut to reach just barely below her shoulders. And she looked older. The last of the baby fat had disappeared completely and her face was thinner. But of course she looked older because it had been five years and—

Diana’s palms were sweaty and she unconsciously swiped them against her jeans, though the action did nothing to still the electric shocks that were coursing through her nervous system. Her entire body felt like it was on fire and she wanted to pinch herself to see if this was just some weird dream but she knew that it wasn’t, it couldn’t be—

And finally her mouth chose to work, her suddenly very dry tongue choosing to work of its own accord as she choked out, in a rush of a breath and a name that hadn’t left her lips in so long:

“Akko?”


	2. Nobody Deserves to Be Alone

**CHAPTER TWO**

NOBODY DESERVES TO BE ALONE

* * *

_AKKO_

* * *

Akko was alone.

Her eyes darted about the cafeteria as she left the lunch line, clammy hands white-knuckling the tray holding a hamburger and fries—she didn’t even _like_ hamburgers, but had nervously just pointed at the first thing she saw on offer—while she tried to find an empty place to sit.

“ _Make a lot of friends, Atsuko,_ ” Okaa-san had said that morning when she’d smoothed the shoulders of a nice and way-too-girly shirt that Akko hadn’t wanted to wear. “ _You’re very good at making friends. You’ll have no trouble at all_.”

Akko had just nodded back, too busy staring up at the old brick building that was her new school and the other students her age that filed obediently through the front doors. Everybody was dressed differently—some in just a t-shirt and shorts—and suddenly Akko was very self-conscious about the nice shirt and skirt that her mother had laid out for her. Already she felt out of place in this new world and, though she spoke fluent English without even a hint of an accent, knew that she would immediately be identified as different.

After three classes, she realized she was wrong.

It wasn’t that people treated her differently or mocked her or any of the things she was expecting. Besides, there were kids of all different nationalities and cultures. Kids with accents and kids with religious garb, kids who had clearly lived in Toronto and nowhere else their entire lives, kids of all shapes and sizes and colors.

What Akko hadn’t been expecting was that they didn’t notice her at _all._

She’d tried to make a friend in her first class, making some off-color joke to another girl about their teacher’s sloppy handwriting, but the girl had only replied with a matter-of-fact, “He’s just copying from the handout. Read that instead,” and so she had not spoken to anybody else through her next two classes. Instead, she’d focused on the lesson—something that was very out of character for her, because she absolutely _hated_ listening to that boring stuff—and doodling in the brand new notebook Okaa-san had gotten her between sloppy and fragmented notes.

But at least she’d had something to keep her busy.

As she stood in the crowded cafeteria, all by herself in a sea of faces that just seemed to blend together, she realized just how very alone she was.

A few older kids got up, leaving a small round table open, even if it was still littered with fries and wrappers and crumbs, and Akko quickly took a seat there. With the sleeve of her way-too-nice-and-not-very-Akko shirt, she swiped the mess onto the ground and got to work picking at the broiled hamburger she had no intentions of eating, slowly shoving fry after fry into her mouth without even looking up. Lifting her eyes would remind her that she was the only one there without a friend.

“Hello. Is this seat taken?”

Akko looked up, half a fry dangling from the corner of her mouth, the other half slowly getting squashed between greasy fingers. A short blonde girl stood across the table, a pink unicorn lunchbox clutched in her hands as she regarded Akko with bright blue eyes.

“Mmf—” Akko quickly swallowed her fry without chewing and swiped her mouth with her sleeve. “No.”

“Do you mind if—”

Akko gestured, hoping that she didn’t look too desperate, but feeling her entire body sigh at having somebody sitting with her even if she didn’t even know who the other girl was.

The girl sat, unzipping her lunchbox and pulling out a sandwich, a bag of baby carrots, a bottle of water, and a large napkin. She carefully arranged each item, as though out of habit, before staring down at the food as though debating which to eat first.

Except she didn’t start eating.

As Akko watched, gently nibbling at a new and kind of soggy fry, the girl pulled out a book—one way too thick and important looking to be anything _fun_ —and began reading.

“I like your lunchbox,” Akko blurted around a mouthful of fry. “I’m Akko.”

“I’m reading,” the girl replied all-too-quickly and without emotion.

Akko’s eyebrows scrunched together. She huffed, leaning back against the plastic chair as she regarded this girl, who didn’t even bother to look up, with an annoyed look. She’d just complimented her lunchbox and the girl didn’t even _care_. “That’s a funny name,” she shot back.

“So is yours,” the girl said. She still didn’t look up.

Akko wrinkled her nose and glanced around the cafeteria, which was bubbling with friend groups who seemed way more engaged in each other than their meals. The older students milled around in the small courtyard that was only open to them, enjoying the sunny day and a warm Canadian autumn.

She looked down at her hamburger, then across to the other girl, before delicately picking the sesame seeds off the bun and popping them into her mouth. If this girl was just going to sit across from her and read, then she might as well pretend she wasn’t even there. How _boring_.

Except she was Akko, and she couldn’t resist talking to someone who was sitting directly in front of her and making things very awkward.

“Are you even going to eat?” Akko asked, shoving a piece of torn bread with sesame seeds into her mouth.

The girl looked up. Bright blue eyes regarded her with an air of arrogance and maturity far beyond their ages. “Perhaps,” she said, glancing down at the picked-at hamburger and Akko’s intense stare. “Are you?”

Akko’s stomach was growling and the fries were gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat the nasty pimple-covered slab of meat and the greasy looking cheese that hung off the side. “Hamburgers are gross,” she mumbled.

The girl snorted. She lowered her book to the table. “Then why did you get a hamburger? I’d offer a recommendation, but I’ve never eaten any of the food here.”

Akko didn’t want to admit that she’d completely panicked in a line of other students instead of just looking at her options and picking something she liked, so she shrugged. “I dunno. It’s my first day.”

“It’s _everybody’s_ first day, Akko.” The corner of the girl’s lips twitched into a very tight smile. She propped her book up once more and went back to reading.

“Yeah, but, like—I mean—” her words came out in a rushed sputter and she groaned, picking up the hamburger and taking a massive bite before regretting it entirely and letting the food fall from her mouth and back onto the tray. She cringed, swiping her sleeve across her mouth and making a face. “Gross.”

Without looking up from her book, the girl shoved her baggy of carrots across the table.

Akko stared at the carrots. If there was one thing she disliked more than hamburgers, it was vegetables. “Uh, no thanks,” she said.

The girl shrugged. She pulled the bag back and, lifting her eyes to meet Akko’s, pulled a carrot out and bit into it with a loud, obnoxious crack. “Suit yourself.”

Akko narrowed her eyes at the carrot-eating, book-reading wacko that had joined her for lunch to be nothing but snarky and judgy. Of all the people to sit with her, why did it have to be the _weirdest_ person in the school?

“Why sit here if you’re just going to read?” Akko heard herself blurt loud enough for a few kids to turn and look at her before re-engaging in whatever they were doing. “There’s a library for that, you know.”

Delicate hands lowered the book to the table. The girl looked across to Akko, eyes narrowing as she took a moment to answer, as though considering either Akko or the question or the half of a carrot that was still between her fingers. Finally, she said, “Because you were sitting here by yourself.” And, as though an afterthought, added, “And I ate in the library yesterday.”

Akko wanted to ask _why_ she would eat in a library instead of with her friends but, considering she had just suggested that the girl go spend her lunch in the library, thought better of it. Instead, she pushed her tray a little farther away, glancing at a few students who were tossing the remnants of their own food in preparation for the bell’s call back to class.

“What’s that to you?” Akko muttered.

The girl shrugged. A long quiet passed until the bell rang and she began packing her nearly untouched lunch carefully back into her lunchbox. She folded her book closed and shoved it back into her bag, only turning back to Akko when she’d finally stood.

“I sat with you because nobody deserves to be alone,” she said. Then, with a soft smile, added, “And my name’s Diana.”

* * *

Akko’s shoulders were aching and protesting as she dumped her hockey bag unceremoniously onto the floor and looked up to the soft, quiet voice who had greeted her. In all honesty, Akko had given her prospective roommate little to no thought. Her mind was instead racing with nervous excitement at starting a life where her overbearing parents had little say, where she could finally assert herself as the adult she insisted she was and not the child everybody treated her as. No, her mind was on university and practice and classes and making friends and going to parties and enjoying late nights that came with her body’s protest of an early morning—

No, she had not thought about her roommate, aside from a careless side comment to Avery that had been, “I hope she’s cool, at least.”

But now, as she stood upright and felt the sweat cooled from the air conditioned room trickling from the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades, her roommate suddenly became overwhelmingly, undeniably, _excruciatingly_ real.

The girl standing in front of her was a far cry from the small, humble child Akko had met over a dozen years ago. Kuso, even the five since she’d last seen her. So much so that it took Akko a double take to realize exactly who it was, but when those oh-so-familiar ocean eyes met hers, years long past rushed up to meet her like someone smacking her deliberately in the face with a history book.

“Akko?”

Akko opened her mouth, found chapped lips sticky from the heat difficult to part. She wanted to say hello, or at least something remotely intelligible, but all that came out was a stuttered, “Uh,” followed by an even more eloquent, “Um.”

Diana was not the small teenage girl that had left for England. Nor was she the run-of-the-mill girl next door that Akko had always thought of her as. Though she was always thin (“Akko, that girl needs to eat more,” Okaasan used to say every time Diana came around), her once gangly and almost foal-like movements now seemed graceful as though everything fell into place as a mesmerizingly picturesque girl that had grown up in many more ways than, well… up. Her face was gaunt but soft, pale skin making her blue eyes even more striking than Akko remembered. Underneath her eyes were the sunken shadows of exhaustion and her platinum hair, longer and wavier than before, was tousled over bony shoulders and a white button-up that admittedly made Akko’s eyes stray.

“Uh,” Akko heard herself say again.

Diana shifted nervously, self-consciously combing her fingers through her hair in a way that made it cascade to the side in a single, irresistibly sexy movement—

“You got tall,” Akko blurted in an effort to shove her gay far, far away from a moment where it did _not_ belong, especially considering the exact actions of the past that had led to the consequences of the now.

“And you got… well, a fair bit short,” Diana replied, chuckling nervously.

That voice was not the Diana she remembered.

The short and very difficult to manage wavelengths in her brain short-circuited with the accent that now flowed freely from Diana’s mouth was enough to make her, literally and without a second thought, pinch herself.

She yelped.

Diana’s platinum eyebrows knit together as she stared at Akko with that same bewildered look she’d used to give Akko whenever she’d done something weird or out of place.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” she asked.

“Yup. Yup, sure did.” Akko’s mouth was moving of its own accord, much to her better judgment. “Because I’m still not entirely convinced that I’m not dreaming because I don’t know if you know this but you’re kind of standing right in front of me and you’re tall and you sound different and this is really, really—” the last word left her lips in a rushed sigh, “—weird.”

“I can agree with that,” Diana said. She’d taken a step back and was leaning against the counter, her long, nimble fingers white-knuckling the edge of the granite countertop as she seemed to look anywhere _but_ at Akko. “This is a very peculiar circumstance that I had not anticipated.”

Was she shivering?

“What’s your middle name?” Akko asked.

Diana narrowed her eyes, which finally met Akko’s in a state of pure confusion. “Pardon?”

“Your middle name,” Akko repeated. “And the name of your favorite movie when you were 15.”

“Why, exactly?”

Akko huffed, running a hand through hair damp with sweat, cocking her head at Diana and remembering just how dense her former best friend _was_. “I’m eliminating the possibility of an imposter.”

Diana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, which Akko suddenly _also_ remembered being one of Diana’s main responses whenever she’d said something stupid.

“Bernadette,” Diana replied with an exasperated huff. “Though I don’t remember what my favorite movie was. Charlie’s Angels, I suppose?”

Akko took a breath. “Okay,” she grunted, satisfied, before starting again, “And your mother’s—”

Diana’s eyes darkened. “It’s me, you dolt.”

Akko could feel heat rising into her neck, even though the air in the room was temperate. “I… okay.” She nodded resolutely. “Sorry, this is just awkward.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Diana agreed, before adding, “And you’re making it quite a bit more so.”

“Sorry,” Akko said quickly. She swallowed hard, squeezing one hand into a fist as she looked—up—at her once best friend. At the girl who had grown up without her in some faraway land and hadn’t bothered to call, or write, or _anything_ , and suddenly anxiety and surprise swayed somewhere between anger and confusion.

 _You never wrote,_ Akko wanted to say, _even though you promised you would_.

She didn’t.

 _You never called me back,_ she also wanted to say, _even though I left so many messages for you._

She didn’t.

“So you, uh, go here,” Akko mumbled between clenched teeth as the circumstances of their falling out hit her like that time she’d face-planted into the side of the rink and concussed herself. “And you… live…” Akko swallowed and pointed down at the ground, at a linoleum floor slightly scuffed from foot traffic. “Here.”

Diana forced a smile. Akko knew it was forced, because she knew Diana, even if it had been five long years since she’d seen her. “I do and… I suppose I do.”

“I can switch rooms,” Akko rushed out. “I’ll ask the RA tomorrow and—”

“That’s, um, not necessary,” Diana said, gesturing to the two rooms on either side of the kitchen and common area. “It’s not like we won’t have our own privacy.” Her face was bright red as she uselessly added, “And we have private washrooms.”

Akko nodded, though she still had plans to ask the RA because all this was just too weird and overwhelming and she felt like her heart was going to explode and her brains were going to paint the wall and her insides were going to melt onto a perfectly clean floor—

Her head was spinning. Spinning so, so fast and this was too much, far too much, and so with a flushed face she turned on a heel of her very worn out converse and made to leave the room when she nearly ran into the one person she had entirely forgotten about in a surreal moment that had swallowed her whole.

“God, Akko, Angel never shuts the fuck up, does she?” Avery huffed as she burst through the door, a backpack thrown over one shoulder and a cat carrier clutched in the other hand. “She yowled all the way up the stairs and everyone was staring—”

Akko’s eyes widened. She froze.

Avery froze.

Diana just stood there looking stupidly perfect.

In the heat of the moment, at the very sight of Diana and the realization of the unfortunate chain of world altering events that had driven the two back together in the most awkward of situations because of _someone’s_ stupid butterfly effect, Akko had completely forgotten about Avery. Now, her best friend stood in the doorway staring at her _previous and inhumanely good-looking_ best friend, who looked altogether shell-shocked. She wore that distantly familiar glint in her eye that Akko knew meant she didn’t want to be there but the deeply ingrained sense of social politeness told her to stay.

“You—” Avery blinked, cocking her head to the side as she narrowed dark eyes and gently set the cat carrier on the ground. “You look familiar.”

“That’s because, it’s, uh—”

“Diana. Cavendish.” Diana’s lips spread in a very forced looking smile as she nodded to Avery. “It’s been quite some time. Avery, right? Good to see you.”

She didn’t look like she meant it. Akko knew very well that Diana had _never_ liked Avery for whatever reason.

“Huh.” Avery nodded, ignoring the pleas from Angel to be let out of her carrier and glancing back and forth between Akko and Diana. She never was very good at reading the room. “You sound British.”

Diana shifted awkwardly, looking toward the carrier with disdain glinting in her eyes— _kuso,_ Akko thought, remembering suddenly that Diana a) did not like cats and b) was very allergic to cats—before returning her gaze to Avery. “Well, I _have_ been living in Britain,” she said dryly.

“Right, right. Forgot you left when your mother died.”

The color in Diana’s face drained.

Akko’s eyes widened.

Avery, in all her oblivious glory, just glanced back and forth between the two before adding, “What? That’s why she went to England, right? She didn’t have anyone here to take care of her?”

“Yes,” Diana said, her tone ice that brought a chill to the room that wasn’t from the A.C. Akko had forgotten that ability—that uncomfortable way that Diana could put a glacier between them at the drop of a hat—and she knew from experience that she needed to either say something lighthearted or break contact, and fast.

“So,” Akko chirped, fidgeting with the bottom of her t-shirt and pulling at a thread that had become _much_ longer in the past few minutes. “About that roommate thing, eh?”

Diana’s eyes hardened. They moved over Avery, over Akko, and finally to the carrier that housed the very desperate cat that was clawing at the top of her nylon carrier and carrying on with shrieks and throaty meows that filled the awkward and uncomfortable space that Akko realized, with a hard swallow and a sudden rush of anxiety, was to be her new home.

“Well,” Diana said, her voice as sharp as the edge of the blades of the skates she plucked off the counter. “I suppose I’ll be needing some benadryl.” She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut before turning and muttering. “I’ll be taking this room, if you don’t mind.”

The door shut quietly behind her, but Akko definitely caught a muttered, “Bloody ace,” before the lock clicked into place.

Akko immediately turned to Avery.

“Really, Ave? Did you have to?”

“Have to what?” Avery bent down to the carrier, unzipping the top so the little grey tabby could finally be free. Angel took her time, lifting her head out of the small space, her nostrils flaring as she took in her new surroundings, before hopping out and slinking around with curiosity until a bang and a curse from Diana’s room sent her fleeing into Akko’s room, where she promptly disappeared under the bed.

“Have to—” Akko lowered her voice to a whisper. “Bring up her mom.”

“What?” Avery narrowed her eyes and scoffed. “Too soon? I was just stating the obvious.” She brought her elbows back and stretched her shoulders, cracking her back and grunting an exhausted sigh. “Anyway, can we go get the rest of your stuff? We still have to get mine, too, and I could really use a beer and a nap. In either order.”

“Right.” Akko dragged her massive hockey bag into her room and cooed a gentle, “You’ll be alright, Angel,” before quietly closing the door to her room. Avery was already out of the dorm and halfway down the hallway, determined to get the rest of their belongings unloaded as quickly as possible.

Akko hesitated at the door, one hand finding the smooth countertop as she drew a deep breath and glanced to Diana’s room. Low music was drifting into the common area, but Akko could hear nothing more.

She had never expected to see Diana Cavendish again. She had never imagined that her best friend would return, had never expected to feel that same hitch in her throat at the sight of a girl who she had known so well, but a girl who had disappeared all the same.

But Diana was back, different but the same in ways, with the only thing separating them a single door—

A single door and five years of radio silence that led them to be nothing more than strangers who happened to know nearly everything about each other.

* * *

“Yo, Akko, catch!”

“Wh—”

A frisbee cracked against the side of her skull and Akko yelped in pain, one hand flying to her forehead as she bent over and swallowed the metallic taste of pain that flooded into her mouth. The frisbee dropped to the grass at her feet and she couldn’t help but straighten out and give it a big kick, but missed and sent a clod of dirt flying instead.

“Amanda, what the hell?” she growled.

“Dude!” Her red-headed friend rushed over, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “I yelled twice, space cadet! You alright?”

“I guess,” Akko grumbled. She dropped her hand, ignoring the throb at the base of her hairline that warned her of an incoming goose egg. “I told you I wasn’t playing.”

“You always want to play.” Amanda shrugged, running a hand through her messy red hair and sending it scattering across her forehead. “Sorry.”

A hand closed around her shoulder. “Hey, Akko, you okay?”

She felt the backs of familiar fingers trace across her temple as Avery leaned in to examine where Akko had been struck. “It’s a little swollen already. Want me to get you some ice?”

Akko shrugged away from Avery’s touch. “No, I’m good,” she muttered. “Can we just, like, chill, though? I’m not in the mood.” She plopped in the grass beside Jasminka, who was munching contentedly on the last half of her sandwich. She scooted over to make room for Akko, offering nothing more than a shrug. Beside her, Constanze was busy assembling a lego Millenium Falcon. The shorter girl didn’t even look up, too engrossed with what she was doing.

“Damn, Akko,” Amanda said, picking up the frisbee and twirling it in on one finger. “You’re in a mood. What’s with the stick up your ass?”

“Well, you just clocked me with a frisbee and I’m stressed out because class starts tomorrow and I’m tired because Angel screamed all night and I dropped my only jar of pickled plums this morning and my former best friend Diana-fucking-Cavendish is my roommate, so any volunteers to kill me will be greatly appreciated and compensated with my life savings of two loonies and some pocket lint.”

She knew she was being dramatic, but she didn’t care. Her shoulders were heavy with stress and it didn’t help that she had another very awkward exchange with Diana that morning before the other girl left with all the attitude of somebody who _definitely_ didn’t want to be there. Plus, the added irritation of Avery sitting down a little too close was _not_ helping.

“That sounds like a big stick. You might need surgery for that.”

Akko huffed. “Fuck off, Amanda.”

Lotte lowered the book she was reading to her lap, glancing up from where she was leaning against one of the few trees that scattered the courtyard. “Did you say Diana Cavendish?”

Akko glanced to her, until then, very quiet friend, unconsciously rubbing her forehead and wincing at the throbbing pain. “Huh? You know her?”

“Well, of course,” Lotte said. “She’s kind of famous in figure skating, I even competed against her once—”

Akko blinked. “She is?”

Lotte plucked up her phone, large blue eyes squinting through her glasses as she hammered something out, before passing it through Avery’s hands and into Akko’s.

Akko was all too aware of Avery leaning in close to get a glimpse of what was on the screen. Avery’s breath warmed her ear, tickled the delicate hairs at the back of her neck. Normally she would have moved away, but her gaze had hyper-focused on the article Lotte had picked out.

_17-YEAR-OLD FIGURE SKATING PRODIGY DIANA CAVENDISH QUALIFIES FOR 2018 WINTER OLYMPICS_

“Wait, you didn’t know that?” Avery said. “That’s huge, eh? I thought she was your best friend?”

“ _Was_ ,” Akko replied. “As in, in the past.”

“You never, like, internet stalked her?”

Akko looked up from the phone, turning to Avery with lips slightly parted in both annoyance and disbelief. “Why the hell would I do that? That’s weird.”

“I totally stalk my exes. Just to make sure they’re miserable, you know?” Amanda said, leaning down to squint at the article. “Damn, she’s hot.”

Akko felt her nose wrinkle in annoyance. She passed Lotte’s phone back without reading the article. She could do that later, when Avery wasn’t breathing down her neck and Amanda wasn’t thinking with her clit.

“She was in the Olympics,” Akko mumbled, more to herself than her friends, as she ripped up a bit of grass and rolled it with her fingers. “Huh.”

“Well, no.” Lotte turned her screen off and dropped her phone back next to her. “She had an injury and hasn’t competed since. I wonder if she’s going to start again?” she mused to herself. “I bet she came here for the program. That’s so cool.”

The fact that Akko hadn’t known any of this was something that made her chest ache. Of course she hadn’t looked Diana up, but not because she hadn’t _thought_ about it. There was just something about seeing somebody who used to be such a huge part of her life just… living it without her. And so she hadn’t. Besides, Diana had never reached out to her, had never even made it a point to keep Akko anything more than a distant memory, and though Akko thought about her, and often, Diana Cavendish had become nothing more than a compartmentalized part of her childhood that Akko had tried to seal away.

She stared ahead, the grass crumbling and leaving green streaks against her fingers, as her friends moved away from Diana and on to the finer points of internet stalking their own exes. And as the world shuddered and faded around her, nothing more than a background of white noise that hardly mattered, a single figure was making her way across the grassy knoll of the courtyard. Her light hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail, hand clutching a satchel that draped across her shoulders. And she walked with a slight limp—how had Akko not noticed before that she limped?—that showed a clear favor of her left leg.

As Akko watched, unable to do anything else but focus on the sole individual who had turned her world upside down in the last 24 hours, Diana delicately sat down at the edge of shade and sun and pulled out a large book. Her eyes lifted and scanned the busy courtyard before seeing Akko. She quickly looked away, flipping open the textbook in her lap and pointedly staring down at it.

“Akko.” Amanda’s hand clasped her shoulder. “You awake?”

Akko jumped, taking a sharp breath and looking up at her friend. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

But her friends had followed her stare, had noticed Diana, too, and it only took a moment for Lotte to say, “Is that her? It is!” She sat up so quickly that her book dropped to the side and the small strawberry-blonde girl reached over to carefully smooth a paper cover that had gotten bent in the neglect. “That’s Diana Cavendish.”

Akko nodded. She dropped the now shredded grass back to the ground and wiped her fingers on her leg. “Uh-huh.”

“Damn,” Amanda said. “She _is_ hot.”

“She’s all by herself. Does she not know anybody here?” Lotte’s voice was a rush of excitement. “Can we invite her over? I’d love to talk about skating and—”

Diana looked up again, met Akko’s eyes. For a long moment the two sat, locked in a reality where only the two of them seemed to exist, before Akko finally broke away and addressed Lotte with a venomous lie that dripped from her lips with the ease of a girl desperate to get away from her own ghosts.

“No,” Akko said, trying to ignore the shiver that coursed uncomfortably down her spine, a chill that had started the day before and still hadn’t relented. “She likes to be alone.”


	3. The Mirrored Waltz, Pt. 1

**CHAPTER THREE**

THE MIRRORED WALTZ, PT. 1

* * *

_DIANA_

* * *

Diana was flying.

The ice was smooth against her blades as she twirled on an outer edge, letting her body move in one fluid, graceful movement. She didn’t care about form, she didn’t care about where her arms were or where her eyes were or if her body was in the rigid yet nimble state that normal competition required. After all, there was no one to watch. It was just her, the ice, and the nipping chill of a peacefully silent rink.

She let her eyes flutter shut as she skated effortlessly backwards with easy crossovers that came as naturally as walking. Looking where she was going was hardly even a requirement—she had come to know the parameters of the average rink, of how many strokes it would take before she even came close to an outer wall—and so instead she let herself fall into the music that filtered through her air pods, let herself disappear in a space that was entirely her own.

_Same stars and city lights,_

_I’m fighting this stubborn bike through town._

She didn’t know what she had been expecting coming back to Toronto. Before, she had developed the sense of homecoming, of returning to the place where she belonged, only that wasn’t the case anymore. She didn’t belong there. But she didn’t belong in Leeds, either. It was a limbo that she wished she could say she was unfamiliar with, but once again she was waiting to find a place to find her own.

In all honesty, she was beginning to think she never would.

_Late at night, cold feet and the air still warm,_

_I ride through the passing storms of my life as before._

Stray blonde hair had fallen loose from her bun, whipping against blushed cheeks as her blades struck the ice, again and again and again, crossing one over the other in monotonous rhythm. She opened her eyes and tilted her chin toward her shoulder to look behind her, letting her arms drift out to her sides as she twisted her body, built rhythm, and leapt from an outside edge in an easy Lutz. The outside edge of her opposite leg caught the smooth surface of the ice and she whirled again, lowering her hands to her sides as she skated in a wide circle, her speed increasing with each stroke. For a moment she considered an Axel, even bending her legs slightly in preparation, but a catch in her throat and the reminder of her fall made her straighten back up and continue on.

Her speed built with frustration that she let fall away. She was here to rebuild her confidence, to get back into the sport that she loved, to maybe someday compete again—even if not at the level she had before—to prove to herself that she _could_.

It’s what her mother would have wanted. 

_It happens that I think of you,_

_Of our days with silver linings and summers in bloom._

_They always end so soon._

_“That was incredible, Diana!” her mother had shrilled as Diana stepped off the ice after completing her very first ever jump. It was just a simple toe loop, a beginner’s jump that came from her toe pick to leap in a single rotation, but she had been all smiles and her mother had, too. Her coach was nothing but praise—”She’s going to be someone, someday. She has a gift,” he had said while placing an affectionate hand on her head—but a little Diana just thought it was something he said to all his kids._

Until ten years later, at Olympic qualifiers, she had thrown a triple axel into a triple loop in well-practiced perfect execution that had brought the stadium to their feet. It wasn’t a gift, like her first instructor had said. Natural ability did help, to some extent, but long practices and dedication had made her who she was. It had taken years to break through the ever-thicker wall that separated her from greatness, but once she did— 

She remembered the way that every single British skater had stood for her, had clapped her on the shoulder and told her how incredible she was. At 17 she was one of the youngest there, though her recent accomplishments had made her a favorite. First in the 2017 European World Junior Championships, first in the 2018 British Figure Skating Ladies’ Championships, second in the 2018 European World Ladies’ Open.

It all mattered, in a way.

And, in another way, none of it did.

When she won all those titles, her mother wasn’t there with that broad, excited smile greeting her when she stepped off the ice. She had walked into a sea of faces that she knew but didn’t know all the same, had left the only small space she had control, had felt at home, for the shadow of loneliness that quickly engulfed her.

But there was somebody that she missed just as much as her mother in a way that hurt even more because she was still _alive_ , whose heart still beat but far away and…

And, well, not for her.

_Truth is, though our days are through,_

_There’s a part of me that’s a part of you._

_What was colors and blues fade under layers of new,_

_But I’m not sure if I want us to._

The truth was that she always looked into the crowd as she stepped onto the ice, as she brought herself to a slow stop before a panel of judges that would balance the fate of her next few minutes. She wasn’t looking for Aunt Daryl or her cousins. They would never be there and she knew that all too well and with far too many reminders.

She was looking for Akko.

Diana never knew why. She never understood how she could come to expect that a girl who had disappeared from her life would be watching a competition in Europe, a girl who would greet her with a carefree smile and an over-exaggerated wave in the ways she had when Diana was nothing more than an awkward teenager who could rarely muster her way into top three in the youth competitions back in Canada.

But she looked, because she hoped.

She always looked.

Until one day she just… stopped.

_Same scars but they’re different now._

_They fade with the passing time_

_as they do, no need to fight._

_Cold hand and a burning home,_

_You’ve seen some of my rougher storms—_

_but that was before._

Diana sighed, her legs growing still as she glided backwards, letting her chin tilt upwards as she breathed deep the smell of cold, of cut ice, of the faint hint of sweat from the locker rooms. To say it was strange to see Akko again was an understatement. No, it was everything: awkward, overwhelming, a rush of so many emotions that she didn’t even know she was capable of feeling. Seeing her had felt like walking face-first into a firehose and struggling to drink but drowning for her efforts.

The girl she had known was not gone, but she was not _there_ , and somehow that was worse than five years of nothing.

_I miss the time I spent with you,_

_Our warm nights of stargazing and summers in bloom._

_They always end so soon._

A loud, unintelligible shout to her left made her startle, her toe catching hard enough into the ice to gauge a large rut, but Diana kept her composure. She ripped her air pods out, nearly dropping one as she shoved them into the pocket of her Patagonia and turned to find a very irritated looking girl nearly slipping on the ice as she walked toward her in sneakers. Lavender hair nearly covered half her face, but did nothing to hide the distasteful curl of her lips.

“I have been yelling at you for five minutes, ice princess. Hockey practice starts in a minute and I still have to smooth the ice.”

Diana glanced behind her, where the Zamboni sat unoccupied, its engine idling as it waited for the girl to return.

“My apologies,” Diana murmured, half-tempted to add that the ice didn’t _need_ to be smoothed because the hockey team was just going to cut it to hell and back anyway, but social etiquette stopped her before the words even touched her lips. 

“A minute? Don’t you mean right now, Suce? You heard her, Barbie. Make way for some real skaters.”

If the abrupt interruption to what was once pleasant quiet hadn’t given them up, the stench of sweaty pads and unwashed practice jerseys quickly did. A girl with red hair that burst like flames from beneath her helmet was leading the team onto the ice, hopping gracelessly over the wall and distinctly ignoring the open door that was only feet away. She twisted, skating slowly backwards with the practiced ease of someone who had known the ice their entire life, before spinning effortlessly to take off around the arena with a reckless speed that Diana hoped, if only for a moment, would carry her into a wall. Other girls trickled on after, but there was only one that made her eyes linger, made her breath catch and freeze in her throat.

Akko.

She had no idea that Akko played hockey.

Akko with her warm brunette hair fell only just so over her padded shoulders, with her slight build that Diana knew was nothing but lean muscle. Akko with the quiet air of effortless self-reliance that she’d seemed born with.

She held a war-torn stick in her hand that she used almost as a cane as she walked easily across the soft floor of the rink before stepping easily onto the ice and drifting forward. It was then that Diana caught the “C” on her purple and gold jersey that marked her as the captain and it took a moment before she realized that the look of surprise on her face was very uncouth.

It had been five years. Certainly Akko could have learned to skate well enough, to play _hockey_ well enough, to earn that title of leadership. Akko had always been a leader, had always been the type to take control of an unruly group and earn their trust with cool confidence and benevolent charm.

_“Just feel the ice. One foot after the other. You’ll be skating circles around me by the end of the night.”_

Akko slid forward, red eyes partially hidden beneath side-swept bangs as she moved in a slow circle around Diana and Sucy, her stick clutched in her hands like it was made to be there. It was almost like the other girl was sizing her up, was _daring_ her to say something.

Diana opened her mouth, her dry and cold lips parting with the intent to murmur a hello out of sheer habit, out of politeness that fell somewhere between an awkward present and a past that burned with warm memories and cold truths, but at the last moment she thought better of it because she had hardly uttered a single word to Akko since their initial confrontation.

Even the thought of breathing in her direction brought a shivering ache to her spine. So, instead, she closed her mouth. She pursed her lips, looking down at her skates and ice that had already been ruined, carved senseless beneath the rush of careless blades and even more careless players, and sighed. She could already hear the unmistakable sounds of sticks slashing at ice, the hard knock of wood against puck and puck against wall, the shouts and jests of seasoned friends.

“I said get off the ice, Blondie.”

Shaved ice sprayed across the side of her body, her neck, her cheek, as the red-haired girl slid to a hard stop mere feet away.

Akko slid to a much quieter stop alongside.

“Enough, Amanda. Go get the nets set up. Sucy, you can just get the ice when we’re done. We’re kind of already—” She glanced at Diana. “Running late.”

“Roger that, Cap’n,” Sucy said with a half-assed salute and a grin that looked more like a snarl before hopping back onto the purring Zamboni.

“Now, if you don’t mind, Diana.” Akko’s eyes met hers, but there was no warmth there. “Get off the ice. We own it until 8.”

She didn’t wait for a response and turned, flying to the team with a playful shout, her stick catching a puck sent her way before sending it flying into the net in an easy slapshot.

Diana did not linger. Her face burned as she skated slowly off the ice, hopping onto the floor and heading straight for the locker room. Normally, she would have stopped and taken her Riedells off right away to protect the blades, but she didn’t want to stay a second longer, because suddenly the rink seemed much colder than mere moments before.

* * *

“We saw you skating.”

“We know who you are.”

“We were going to hop in and practice, too, but, gosh, sharing the ice with Diana Cavendish seemed a little intimidating, so we just watched for a little while.”

“Not in a creepy way, though.”

“Yeah, not a creepy way.”

“Barbara, you’re coming off as creepy.”

“You’re the one that sounds like a hitman.”

Diana had stopped mid-way in sliding her blue blade protectors over her Riedells when two girls had suddenly come right up to the bench she was sitting on and began spouting off at the mouth like two lost puppies who had finally found their mother. She blinked up, letting her lips fall slightly open as she just gaped at two girls she vaguely recognized: one with freckles and auburn hair tied back in a ribbon, the other with straight black hair that fell, long and pretty, around a pale but flushed face.

“This got awkward fast,” the black-haired girl said.

“I blame you,” the auburn-hair girl added.

“Pardon?” was all Diana could muster in response.

“You… _are_ … Diana Cavendish, right?”

Diana glanced from side to side, vaguely and unashamedly hoping there was somebody else in the locker room that could potentially save her from the really strange situation she had found herself in the middle of, but they were alone. “Yes,” she finally answered, returning to the care of her blades. “I am.”

The auburn-haired girl let out a squeal that made Diana jump and almost drop her skates.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! We went to school together back in the day. And, I mean, I used to compete against you, like, a long time ago, but I definitely couldn’t keep up and—”

“Me either.”

“Barbara, you couldn’t keep up with a sloth’s corpse if your mother’s life depended on it.”

“Well if _your_ life depended on it I’d make sure that sloth had great company in the afterlife.”

“Anyway,” ribbon girl chirped without skipping a beat, “I’m Hannah. England. You probably don’t remember me—”

She knew who they were. Too well.

_“Move, nerd,” the auburn-haired girl shouted from just behind her ear. Bone met bone and the pain that seared through her shoulder was nothing compared to the shame of embarrassment as her grip on her books loosened and spilled over the scuffed hall floor. Every single head turned to stare at her, relentless in the laughter that sparkled behind their eyes._

_“That’s for reminding Pisces about that paper we had due today,” the black-haired one sneered, kicking a book Diana was reaching for across the hall and into the lockers. “She would’ve forgotten, moron.”_

_And they laughed. They laughed, and they jeered, and they called her names that would have made her mother slap soap across their faces._

_The only thing that had stopped it was Akko, who came in like a hero in her oversized hoodie and out-of-regulation shorts, and yelled at everybody to stop before helping Diana pick her books off the floor._

Diana said nothing.

“I’m Barbara Parker,” the black-haired girl said, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’ve actually never skated against you, but I remember how cool you were in school—”

Diana barely covered a scoff.

“—and I saw you in the Olympic qualifiers and can I just say, ‘Wow’?”

“I, um—” Diana stood, removing her glove to take the other girl’s hand and shake it gently, barely withholding the disdain that struggled for a presence in her expression. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“So, uh.” Hannah took a step backwards, folding her arms across her chest and suddenly seeming very self-aware that she was entirely invading Diana’s space. “What are you doing here? I mean… back here? You moved to England, right?”

“Hannah, you can’t just ask what someone’s doing here.”

Hannah’s wide smile flattened. She shot a glare at Barbara. “Why not?” She turned her attention back to Diana. “Is there, like, some big competition in Toronto or something? I haven’t heard of anything—”

“No.” Diana shook her head, carefully sliding her skates into her duffel. “I go here.”

“Here?” Barbara raised an eyebrow. “As in Luna Nova?”

“Well, yes.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes, cupping her chin as though in very deep thought as she analyzed Diana’s face for any hint of a possible joke. “Why would you go _here_?”

“Hannah, that’s kind of personal.”

Diana was starting to think she liked Barbara _much_ more than she liked Hannah, though she personally did not like either, but she answered all the same. “It’s fine. I’m here for med school and the figure skating program wasn’t a bad lure, either.” She shrugged.

“I don’t remember you sounding British,” Hannah said. “Can I just say that I _love_ your accent?”

“Hannah, that’s weird. But, yeah, it is cool.”

Diana could not help but reach up and rub her temple. Two very invasive and very obnoxious bullies-turned-fangirls were _not_ something she was in the mood to tolerate, especially with classes starting the next day and, well… her very awkward roommate situation. “Girls, if you don’t mind,” she said, throwing a glance over their shoulders at the exit that seemed too far away and, for a moment that old Akko would have highly encouraged, thinking about making a break for it. But she didn’t, and instead finished with, “I still have to grab supper and look over my syllabus for tomorrow.”

“Right. Of course. Well, it was great to see you again,” Hannah blurted, stepping aside in a generous act to let Diana through. “I hope to see you around campus!”

“That would be my pleasure,” Diana lied through her teeth, suddenly grateful that Luna Nova was a rather large campus and there was a very slim possibility that they would cross paths off the ice.

After all, the last thing she needed was—

* * *

Fangirls.

In her class.

In her _very first 8:00 a.m. lecture._

“Oh, my God! Diana! We have a class together.”

Diana had half a mind to blurt, “No we don’t,” and turn and walk out of the class and drop it from her mobile, but she instead took a long gulp of her still-hot breakfast tea that burnt her tongue and said, in a voice of fake hospitality that she had learned from none other than her Aunt, “What a wonderful surprise.”

The lecture hall was small, but not so small that there weren’t plenty of seating options. Looking past Hannah and Barbara, she adjusted her satchel on her shoulder and picked out a row that wasn’t near a window. After all, she didn’t need any distractions, especially during a morning class.

She was not surprised when the two other girls flanked her and sat to either side, rushing off at the mouth about how impressive Diana’s axel/loop combination had been. They were so loud, in fact, that nearly all the students who were already seated turned to shoot glares through bloodshot eyes and over cups of steaming Tim’s coffee.

Diana tipped her chin down, trying to hide the crimson that flushed her cheeks with her hair, as she pulled her journal, pen, and a very thick (and very expensive, even by her standards) textbook titled _The Principles of Modern Psychology, Version 7._ She flipped her notebook open and hunched over it, ignoring Hannah and Barbara and instead writing the date at the top of the paper along with a messily scrawled LECTURE ONE.

“Yeah, but did you _see_ the way Jas dodged that slapshot? I do that against Queen’s and that little twink they call a keeper is going to—” A pause, and then, “Oh. Great. The Ice Princess Squad, bright and early.”

Diana did not even have to look up to know. For a moment, she could _swear_ that the titanium rods in her leg were screaming a magnetic attraction to the girl who had just entered the room, but uncrossing her legs brought the familiar tingle of waking muscles.

And, because she couldn’t help herself, she _did_ look up.

Akko was already looking back at her. She looked so much smaller outside of her hockey gear, a slight figure that made it hard to believe she was once somebody Diana looked up to—literally _and_ figuratively.

Diana had left before Akko—she knew because she could still hear her roommate snoring gently behind a partially closed door—and it looked like she hadn’t given herself much time to get ready. An old hoodie. The same pair of red shorts she wore to bed. Converse that she hadn’t even bothered to lace. Her hair was tousled over her shoulders, draping around cheeks that reddened when their eyes met.

She looked away quickly and wrapped a hand around the other girl’s forearm, tugging gently.

“Let’s sit in the back, ‘Manda,” she murmured. She shrugged her satchel higher onto her shoulder and trudged by, deliberately looking away, looking anywhere that wasn’t Diana.

A gentle tap to her shoulder broke her away from her thoughts.

“Diana?”

Familiarity. So close to the sound of home that she couldn’t muster the strength to hide the smile that spread across her lips as she turned.

“Diana Cavendish,” Andrew chuckled, his own grin splitting dimples into his cheeks. “So it is you. Father did say you’d be coming here, though I never imagined you’d be sitting right in front of me the very first day of classes.”

“Coincidences seem to be the theme of the week,” Diana replied, letting her eyes flicker to where Akko was fumbling into her own seat. She returned her attention to Andrew—the single light in a sea of darkness—and felt a gentle wave of relief washing over her. She _had_ expected to see Andrew Hanbridge, eventually, though she had thought it would be during a visit to the hospital. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” he replied, smile never faltering as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze—the first kind touch that she had felt in so long it made her chest swell—and dropped back into his seat. “We’ve got some catching up to do. Maybe after class?” And, without waiting for a response, nodded to both Hannah and Barbara. “Your friends can come along, too.”

Friends.

Diana glanced at Hannah and Barbara. They were smiling between Diana and Andrew. No doubt they recognized him, too. They’d done a number of doubles together.

_“Bet she doesn’t even have to do the homework,” Barbara muttered from a desk behind her. “She probably gets a perfect mark just for kissing Pisces’s ass.”_

_“Probably eats what comes out, too,” Hannah grumbled. “Don’t let her hear us, though, eh,” she added, deliberately raising her voice. “Her lezzie bodyguard will appear out of thin air to protect her.”_

Her eyes shifted back to Akko. Back to the girl she once knew. The girl who laughed over everything and nothing at all, the girl who once brought a smile to her face no matter the circumstances, the girl who had her back through thick, through thin, through…

No.

She had left Diana to face the darkest part of life on her own. She had left Diana to stare into the shadows, into the abyss, into the nothing. Confused. Afraid.

Alone.

People changed, and she knew that better than anybody.

And so she turned to Hannah and Barbara, the two girls who bullied her to tears all those years ago, and said, “I’m sure my friends would enjoy that very much.”

* * *

“Get off the counter,” Diana growled for the third time. She swatted at Angel, who just blinked at her with large yellow eyes before turning and jumping down as though it was her own choice. With a heavy sigh, she turned back to the sink—to the plates piled high, to the glasses stacked alongside—and squeezed her eyes shut, hard.

“How hard is it to do the bloody dishes?” she muttered to herself, sliding her own dirty plate beneath the faucet. She fished the still-damp sponge out from beneath Akko’s mess, her nose wrinkling with distaste as she ran it beneath warm water. Her knuckles brushed against one of Akko’s dirty plates, one caked with instant macaroni and cheese that she hadn’t even bothered to scrape off, and she dropped her own dish with a clatter and an exaggerated groan.

From behind her, a whisper. Then laughter. First Avery, then Akko. The volume on the television cranked up until the screams of the horror movie and the rattle of the chainsaw felt like they were inside her brain.

Akko knew she hated horror movies.

Or, at least, that she _had_ hated horror movies, in the past.

That had not changed.

As if on cue, Angel leapt back onto the counter, her long tail slapping against the faucet as she met Diana’s eyes and let out a long, scratchy meow.

“Akko,” Diana huffed, finally at her wit’s end. “For the last time, could you get your cat off the counter?”

Behind her, silence. A scream. The sound of meat against metal and the spray of blood. Diana didn’t have to see to know. She felt her stomach turn. She focused on the cat, on the water that flowed over the dirty dishes piled carelessly into the sink, on her knuckles white against the edge of the counter.

What she wouldn’t give for ice. Smooth ice beneath sharp blades. A leg that worked, a quiet mind, a past that didn’t haunt her—

“Why don’t you just move her if it’s bothering you so much?” Avery snapped above the volume of the movie.

“Because,” she growled, unsure of why she was explaining herself to a girl that a) was not her roommate and b) didn’t need to involve herself whatsoever, “I’m _allergic_.”

“Then take a fucking benadryl,” Avery said.

Diana turned, her gaze falling on the two girls curled up comfortably on the couch: Avery half draped over Akko, who was stifling laughter with the palm of her hand. Behind her, Angel head-butted her shoulder, a lingering touch that only added fuel to the anger she was barely holding inside.

“I’m sorry,” Diana replied, straining to keep her voice neutral, “But I wasn’t aware that you lived here, nor did I realize I wasn’t making it clear I’m not speaking to you.”

Akko’s laughter died along with her smile. She straightened up, forcing Avery to sit up as well. “We’re just trying to enjoy a movie. It’s not like it’s a weeknight. Just tell her to get down. I’ll do the dishes later if it’s such a big deal. I’ll even wash yours for you.”

“That’s not the point,” Diana said. She nudged Angel away, rubbing at her already itching nose with the back of her hand.

“Then what is the point? You’re making something out of nothing,” Avery added. “Why don’t you go to your room if you’re going to be such a bitch?”

“ _Avery_ ,” Akko spat, rising so fast that Avery jumped, startled. Akko’s hand shot out to the television and turned it off, red eyes flashing as she whirled on her friend. “It’s getting late anyway. I’ve got practice tomorrow morning. I’ll text you.”

“Fine,” Avery grumbled, clambering to her feet and shooting a glare at Diana before adding, “Could’ve at least let us finish the movie before throwing a fit. Wasn’t even at the best part.”

“We’ll finish it later,” Akko said.

Blue eyes met red and held, unmoving until the door to their dorm clicked shut, before both burst at the same time:

“What’s your problem?”

Diana froze. Angel jumped down, her paws thumping against the floor as she trotted off to Akko’s room. Dishes shifted beneath the rolling water, forgotten.

“Since when are you allergic to cats?” Akko spat. “I’ve _always_ had cats.”

“ _Forever_ ,” Diana shot back. “Quite literally forever, Akko.”

“Well how am _I_ supposed to know that?”

Diana leaned back against the counter, swiping exasperatedly at the faucet to turn it off before pinching the bridge of her nose. Hard. “I apologize. It was wrong of me to assume that you remembered a single fact about me.”

Akko huffed. Said nothing. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, kicking at the ground with mismatched socks as she stared off into nothing.

“I would just like,” Diana continued, bringing her voice back down to a respectable tone, “If, at the very least, you cleaned up after yourself and perhaps kept your cat in your room.”

“Oh, got it,” Akko growled. “So I’m supposed to keep Angel cooped up in my room and make it look like I don’t even live here? Just so that you can keep your stupid pride and hang out with those stupid girls that used to treat you like crap and keep pretending I never existed?”

Diana’s nostrils flared as she took a deep, rattling breath. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. But who are you to decide who I can and can’t be friends with? People change, Akko.”

“Yeah.” Akko scuffed at the floor, her toes curling where carpet met linoleum, before lifting her eyes to meet Diana’s. “Like you.”

Diana stared straight ahead, holding the hazy outline of her former best friend in vision that faded and sharpened with each breath. This was not the girl she used to know. This was not the girl who would hug her for no reason, who would declare parties over stupid things like her bike not being stolen in a neighborhood with no crime rate. This was not the girl who would grin at her from across the room or from down the hall even if it meant tripping over her own untied laces.

That was the Akko she used to know.

The girl who stood before her was a stranger.

Her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth. She could hear laughter from down the hall, no doubt other students enjoying their first free weekend of the school year. Yet, here she was, staring at a vision from the past that she no longer recognized, and wishing she was anywhere else.

“She likes you, you know.”

The words left her mouth before she could even stop them.

“Yeah? And why do you care so much?” Akko lifted her gaze. Crimson eyes burned into her own, relentless in their intensity. “Besides, tell me something I don’t know.”

Diana’s lips parted, but before she could speak—

“Oh, I know,” Akko said, her voice quiet. “The last five years of the life you shut me out of.”

She turned, her jaw clenched, and with a fleeting glance of eyes that bore nothing but resentment, vanished into her room, the door shutting behind her.

Her words stayed, echoing like the haunting, drunken melody of ice cracking deep beneath the surface. But Diana did not linger. Instead, she clenched her fists, closed her eyes, and breathed the reminder that she’d made it this far. Five years of frigid nothing was enough to hold her.

She just had to remind herself that the stranger she lived with was nothing more than a shadow of somebody she used to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there's typos sorry i guess idk man i can't re-read things i write it makes my eyes bleed
> 
> oh yeah the song is **elina - blue**


	4. The Mirrored Waltz, Pt. 2

**CHAPTER FOUR**

THE MIRRORED WALTZ, PT. 2

* * *

_AKKO_

* * *

Watching Diana was captivating. Akko’s eyes followed her as she floated effortlessly across the rink, every bit of her fluid and moving in perfect sync. It wasn’t that she was doing anything special. Just skating in wide, graceful loops, her legs crossing with the automation of muscle memory. Some of her long, wavy hair had come loose from her bun and whipped around a chill-blushed face, but she made no move to fix it. She was in her own world, in the small measure of time she’d rented in reality, and Akko could tell that Diana was at home.

But there was still something off. Something in the hesitation that crossed her face as she skimmed an outer or inner edge, arcing her arms and upper body in that way she did when she was about to jump, but didn’t. There wasn’t the confidence Akko expected to see from an Olympic-level skater. There was doubt. A mental obstacle that Diana just couldn’t cross.

And, at times, there was fear.

She only watched for a moment longer. What she was witnessing seemed too intimate, too personal, and Akko felt like she was invading a space that wasn’t made to accommodate her.

And, well, it wasn’t.

The piece of Diana’s life that Akko once held had disappeared with the unanswered letters, with the expensive long-distance calls that ended with the droning tone of avoidance. In the way that hurt the most, Akko was forced from a place where she truly thought she belonged.

She turned, drawing a breath that filled her lungs with the cold rink air, and walked away from the memory of a life long gone.

* * *

“Since when are you allergic to cats? I’ve always had cats!”

Akko was staring at the girl before her. A girl she didn’t recognize. Sure, the person before her bore the same face—albeit older, more mature,  _ prettier _ —than the Diana she knew. Her eyes were still just as blue, her lips just as flushed, her skin just as pale save for the barely-there dusting of freckles beneath her eyes and across the top of a nose crooked from the time Akko chucked a basketball at her and had expected her to catch it.

But this girl was tall. This girl was British. This girl was not meek or shy, was not ready to compromise when compromise seemed to make the most sense. Diana  _ knew _ that Akko was messy. She’d been in her room a hundred thousand times before, had seen the dirty laundry mixed with the clean laundry and the posters that hung off the walls and the unmade bed and the complete state of disregard for any sense of cleanliness. A room that constantly had a cat in it, or cat hair on the furniture, or the smell of litter— 

So why did a few dishes upset her?

Why did a cat suddenly bother her?

“Forever,” Diana replied. A look of betrayal briefly crossed her face before disappearing entirely. “Quite literally forever, Akko.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?”

Akko watched as she turned the faucet off—thank God, she had to pee and it was making it so much worse—and pinched the bridge of her nose in that same way she always did when Akko had done something stupid. Dark eyebrows crinkled together as she stared at her old friend, confused and dismayed and struggling to maintain a grasp on five years of compounded disappointment that had, at some point, festered into anger.

“I apologize,” Diana said. Her voice hardened. The hurt was there, a hint of a glisten in eyes that Akko used to let herself disappear into, but she couldn’t muster the energy to empathize. “It was wrong of me to assume that you remembered a single fact about me.”

A single fact. Okay, so Diana was allergic to cats. Maybe she took allergy pills or maybe she sneezed or rubbed her nose and Akko just never noticed because she was just a  _ kid _ .

But saying that Akko remembered nothing was unfair. No, it was more than unfair. It was  _ wrong. _

There were so many things that Akko remembered—

Like how Akko would wait at the edge of the sidewalk every morning just to see Diana’s broad smile that met Akko’s own after she kissed her mother goodbye.

Like how Diana would count her carrots before she ate them because she liked to eat in even numbers—an extra would go back into the bag, back into her lunch pail, because Akko certainly wouldn’t eat it—and would only eat one after she finished a page of whatever book she was reading at lunch. Because she always read at lunch and it never bothered Akko because they had the world around them to share, and so Akko would just use that half hour each day to watch, to study, to enjoy the comfortable quiet that had become their friendship.

She remembered how Diana sang to her mother on the worst of days, even though she didn’t have the best voice and couldn’t hit the right notes. How Diana cried and held the frail, nearly translucent hand of her mother in one and the strong hand of Akko in the other, and Akko would squeeze and Diana would squeeze back—

Did Diana ever even know what that meant?

Akko  _ had  _ known Diana.

“I would just like if, at the very least, you cleaned up after yourself and perhaps kept your cat in your room,” Diana added after a moment, bringing Akko back to the miserable present.

Akko did not know this Diana. She did not know the girl who was treating her like a child, the girl who was treating her like they were never anything at all. No, Akko was just a college roommate that was getting on her nerves.

She clenched her jaw. “Oh, got it,” she grumbled. “So I’m supposed to keep Angel cooped up in my room and make it look like I don’t even live here? Just so that you can keep your stupid pride and hang out with those stupid girls that used to treat you like crap and keep pretending I never existed?”

Oh, she had seen Diana with Hannah and Barbara.

Had Diana forgotten how those girls had treated her in school?

How they had bullied her, how they had tormented her? How many times Akko had to follow Diana to the washroom only to find her crying alone in a stall? How she’d had to crawl under and take her best friend in her arms and tell her to ignore them, that they weren’t worth it? Or how Akko would have to get into Diana’s locker before they met up some days just to make sure she didn’t see the mean notes they liked to slip inside?

Had she changed so much that  _ they _ were the people she wanted to associate with?

Diana took a deep breath. Her hands were gripping the edge of the counter hard, squeezing, as though trying to ground herself. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. But who are you to decide who I can and can’t be friends with? People change, Akko.”

“Yeah.” Akko wrinkled her nose and kicked at the floor. She knew there was venom in her voice, but she couldn’t stop it.

Why had Diana shut her out?

Why had she never written back?

Was what they had done so… horrible?

She looked up, let her eyes bore into Diana’s.

“Like you.”

They stood in a stalemate. There was a wall between them and Akko wanted to reach through it, to find the Diana that had been there before, that should have been there all along, but she didn’t know how.

And she didn’t know if Diana wanted her to.

“She likes you, you know,” Diana blurted.

Akko felt her eyes harden. Why did Diana care about Avery? Why did she care that somebody liked her, that somebody wanted to be with her… even if Akko didn’t feel the same way? She wasn’t about to tell Diana that Avery cuddling up to her on the couch was nothing more than a warm body that made her feel less alone. She wasn’t about to tell her that the way Avery looked at her made her want to vanish completely because it wasn’t  _ Avery  _ she wanted looking at her like that. She wasn’t about to tell her that the few times Avery had spent underneath her were nothing more than an attempt to fill a void that only grew, because the flushed face she stared down at was not the one she wanted to see.

Avery knew that she was not what Akko wanted. But loneliness was real and visceral, and anger and resentment only dug that trench deeper until you had to try anything to get out. 

Even if it was wrong.

Even if it hurt more.

“Yeah. And why do you care so much? Besides,” she grumbled, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

All at once she felt bad for Avery, felt bad that Diana noticed, felt bad for becoming a person so desperate that using another was more appealing than facing the truth—but there was a reason for that, and that reason stood before her in a fog that Akko couldn’t see through because it  _ hurt _ . She knew that what she had with Avery was a mutual understanding, though Akko knew Avery would jump at the opportunity for more.

“Oh, I know,” she said after a moment, her fist clenching at her side as she lowered her gaze to the counter, to the floor, to anything that wasn’t Diana. “The last five years of your life.”

She did not afford Diana a chance to say anything more. She didn’t want to hear it. Being in the same room with her was like watching a dream that she had no control over. A dream where everything was wrong and she wanted to make it right but  _ couldn’t. _ Diana had come back and, yeah, she was different, she had grown up, she had  _ changed _ . But, in a lot of ways, seeing what she had become only made it hurt worse.

Diana was beautiful.

She was successful.

She was everything Akko had promised her she would become on those dark days when she didn’t believe, only she became those things without her.

And, as Akko fell onto her bed and took Angel into her arms, she didn’t know which part she hated the most: the fact that Diana was gone, the fact that Diana was back—

or the fact that, even through it all, the way she felt about Diana had never changed.

* * *

“I don’t get this,” Akko moaned, shoving her open Statistics textbook just out of reach as she let her forehead fall onto her arms. “I understand nothing,” she said, muffled, into her sleeves. She cocked her head to the side, staring sideways up at Lotte. “I’m majoring in Music Theory. Why do I even need this crap?”

“Gen Ed,” Lotte said simply, bringing her Tim’s cup to her lips and taking a delicate sip. She looked to Akko, blue eyes bright behind thick lenses, and smiled. “You’ll get it, Akko. We don’t let you fail. Will we, Suce?”

Sucy grunted from across the table, staring blankly into the steam that rose from her tea. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Sure.”

“See?” Lotte flashed a bright grin. “Now, come on, Akko. It’s just linear regression. You just need to be able to identify the variables and—”

Akko shoved a Tim Bit into her mouth and smiled back through crumbs that spilled through her teeth. “Wrmph a vurrimble.”

“I’m sorry,” Sucy deadpanned, looking up from the swaying trails of steam that had held her attention for so long. “I barely understand idiot as it is, but I definitely don’t understand  _ muffled  _ idiot.”

Akko swallowed, rising only to cough and spray a few crumbs over the table in front of her. She swiped them away with her sleeve. “What’s a variable?”

Lotte glanced at Sucy. Sucy stared back.

A whole conversation between them, silent, before Sucy said, “I think the only way we’re going to get her out of this course is by dragging her corpse. I volunteer.” She smirked, rubbing her hands together. “She could be my very first cadaver.”

“I think the only thing you’d get out of Akko is bullshit.”

The table shook as Amanda slammed her bag down next to Sucy, plopping down with a carefree kick of her legs that made some of Sucy’s tea spill over the side of the cup. Sucy growled, hand shooting out to grab her drink, before shooting a glare at their newest addition.

“Oh. H-hi Amanda,” Lotte greeted. She pushed her glasses up a little higher on the bridge of her nose and smiled without teeth, her fingers tightening around her cup of coffee. “How are you?”

“Better now that I get to see your face, strawberry shortcake.” Amanda reached across the table and ruffled Lotte’s hair until it was skewed across her forehead. A playful grin curved into freckled cheeks as Lotte giggled and ducked away.

Sucy merely stared, sneering at the hot blush that rose into Lotte’s cheeks as she immediately buried her face into her coffee cup to take a sip but missing entirely.

“Forget where your mouth is, shortcake?”

Lotte’s blush deepened. She quickly mopped the spill up with a napkin.

Amanda said something else, but Akko didn’t hear. A flash of blonde across the caf drew Akko’s attention away, making her straighten in her seat.

Diana was standing with Hannah and Barbara and a tall, good looking guy she didn’t recognize. They were chatting animatedly, mostly Hannah and the guy, with Barbara smiling so hard it made  _ Akko’s  _ face hurt and Diana merely nodding with conversational politeness.

Her pale face tilted slightly to the side, gaze finding Akko. They held for a moment before turning away once more.

Amanda followed Akko’s stare.

“Still dealing with awkward roomie issues?” she asked. “You could just ask for a transfer. I know Avery’s got space—”

“I do  _ not  _ want to live with—”

“Hey, Akko!”

“Oh.” Akko plastered on a guilty smile, wincing as she turned to find Avery standing behind her. How long had she been there? “Hey, Ave.”

“Too bad that one girl’s such a bitch,” Amanda muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for anybody to comment if they wanted to. “I’ve got a thing for redheads.”

“Just look in a mirror then, you narcissist,” Avery said, laughing.

Amanda turned back, grin widening. “I do. Often.” She grabbed the strings of her hoodie and tugged, cocking her chin up with an arrogant huff. “Someone’s gotta admire a good thing.”

Lotte opened her mouth. Shut it. Looked down at her Statistics textbook and stared. Sucy merely smirked at her, and the small hop that came a moment later told Akko that Sucy had most  _ definitely  _ kicked Lotte under the table.

“Not to interrupt your—” Avery’s bright eyes trailed over the group. Amanda, who had turned around once more to stare at Hannah. Sucy, who was wearing a shit-eating grin at a bright red Lotte. Akko, who was staring blankly at Diana and her new group of friends, well aware of the way her nose wrinkled and her lips twitched. “Uh, studying. But we’ve got Lab tonight. Should probably get ready, eh? You know they’ll boot our gig if we’re not there on time.”

The others rose around Akko.

Hannah and Barbara only wanted to be friends with Diana because she was borderline famous, especially in the figure skating world. They were using her. The other guy, though? He was tall, handsome, dark hair slicked perfectly back, a smile that looked like a Disney cartoonist drew it on for him.

Who was he?

“Akko.”

Amanda, Sucy, and Lotte were already shrugging their bags over their shoulders and trudging back to their dorms to get ready. Akko jumped, wincing as coffee sloshed from the mouth of her cup to burn into her wrist. Avery started to reach for it, an instinct to comfort, but Akko pulled away and shoveled her belongings into her satchel.

Avery glanced at the others, as though gauging their distance, before looking back to Akko and lowering her voice. “You alright, babe?”

Normally, Akko would have scolded her for the pet name. They were not a couple. They were not a thing. It was something that Akko reiterated time and time again, but, as though to hold out hope, Avery occasionally let the endearments slip.

So, instead of correcting her, she merely smiled and said, “Yeah. All good.”

* * *

Labyrinth was crowded.

It was the middle of their set and Akko was grateful for the break, catching the water bottle tossed from Lotte to chug, her fingers crunching around the thin plastic as she drank. After, there would be beer, there would be friends, there would be talking to random people who enjoyed the poorly-paid gig. There would be laughing and joking late into the night until they’d finally stumble home to their dorms—

But, until then, there was no Diana.

Akko would be here, surrounded by people she knew, instead of at home with a ghost.

Avery was tired. Sweat dripped from her dark hair and down her temple, and she lifted her shirt to swipe at her forehead. A few guys cheered, yelled for her to take it off, and Akko turned and chucked her water bottle at them in response.

“Douche bags,” she grumbled.

Lotte and Sucy settled back at the table closest to their set up, slowly sipping their own drinks as more people filtered into the bar. Sucy’s lazy gaze floated around the small bar. To the students milling before the taps, waiting for their drinks. To a rowdy group in the back that seemed like they were trying to draw as much attention as possible. To a few quiet girls who looked like they were just trying to get the university experience without engaging too much. She loved to people watch, and Akko knew it, and she let her own eyes float over the bar along with her, almost expecting to see the one person that she didn’t want to.

She didn’t. And she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better, or worse.

“Uh, can we get some music in here?” somebody yelled from the back. Amanda hollered something in response from behind her drumset, but Akko couldn’t make anything out other than the word, “Asshole.”

“Akko,” Avery called over the din. “You wanna do one of your covers? That Radiohead song, maybe? I need a sec.”

“Uh, sure.”

She was not the best singer, not by far. Especially compared to Avery. She had never taken voice lessons, had never perfected tone and pitch, but singing in front of others didn’t bother her. All she had to do was adjust her capo to the right fret, one that complemented the thin range of her vocal abilities, and make do.

And so she did.

As she settled onto the stool that Avery scooted her way, her acoustic guitar draped over her lap, the students seemed to quiet down. They were mostly there for the music—the music and the vibes and the beer and the people—and a lot of them knew the rag-tag band of girls that played for a small commission and whatever loonies people threw in their jar between poorly played covers and poorly written originals.

Akko took the mic stand in her hand and lowered it, ignoring the familiar voice of Jasminka yelling, “Yeah, Akko!” and running her hand through sweat-damp hair.

Her fingers fell across the strings, a simple ask to pay attention, if they cared.

“I, uh.”

Speaking was not her strong point. She looked down and swallowed, her thumb scraping gently down the strings as the image of Diana slowly filtered into her mind. It used to be Diana as she was: short, humble, quiet, with that kind smile that had met her every day.

But now she saw Diana as she was. Tall. Poised. Long, wavy blonde hair that fell gently around thin shoulders. Her freckles had faded but Akko could still make them out at the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, and, with a lurch in her chest, she remembered the one time she was so close she could have traced them with her lips.

She wished that she had.

She wished that she had learned all of Diana before she lost her.

With resolve, she looked up. One hand closed around the capo set for Exit Music and moved it to where she wanted it to be. She swallowed.

“I’ve, uh, never played this for anyone,” Akko said quietly, unsure if the mic was even picking up how soft her voice was. “This was my best friend’s favorite song. I promised to learn it for her.”

She was well aware that Avery was staring at the side of her face. Well aware of what the other girl was thinking. She ignored it.

“And—and I did learn it,” Akko choked out, flexing her fingers. “But I never got the chance to play it for her, and, to be honest, I’m not really sure if she would care anymore. Or if she even remembers.” She clenched her jaw, ignoring the bangs that cascaded across her forehead, tickled her eyebrows. “But I remembered,” she said. “And I still care.”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her hand find the chords that she had memorized, let her fingers fall against the pattern of strings that had become second nature, let the image of the one person she missed the most flood her thoughts—

And sang.


	5. Same Song, Different Chords

**CHAPTER FIVE**

SAME SONG, DIFFERENT CHORDS

* * *

_DIANA_

* * *

_Akko’s fingers fell across the strings of her guitar. She leaned back against the wall, stretching her legs across Diana’s bed as she stared off into nothing and simply picked a slow, gentle melody with her thumb._

_“Can you play anything yet?” Diana asked. She let her Biology textbook fall across a stomach that rose and fell with the gentle breaths of peace. Her mother was asleep—she’d received her medication an hour before—and it would be a while before Diana or Anna would have to tend to her once more. But, for now, there was quiet, there was comfort. There was Akko. Akko, who always came when Diana’s mother was at her worst. Who always volunteered her company when Diana called._

_It was nice to have somebody to lean on._

_“I—” Akko glanced down at her the body of her guitar, shifting frets with a squeak of the strings. “Kind of,” she said after a moment, turning bright eyes to Diana. Her cheeks burned with an embarrassed blush. “But I’m not very good. And I can’t sing at the same time yet.”_

_“But you’re learning,” Diana encouraged, smiling as she settled her head against her pillow and turned to watch her best friend. “That’s all that matters. Do you want to play it?”_

_Akko chuckled nervously, stroking the strings gently once more. “I dunno,” she said. “I don’t want you to laugh.”_

_“And when have I ever laughed at you?” Diana scoffed._

_Akko’s flushed lips fell, eyes narrowing as she glared playfully at her friend. “Literally all the time.”_

_Diana did not stop the grin that flashed across her lips. She kicked a sock-covered foot against Akko’s thigh, but did not pull it away. There was warmth there, and comfort in touch, and just the feeling of contact so simple made her insides flutter._

_A long moment passed. One where Akko chewed at her lower lip, as if debating whether or not it was worth it to try, before she closed her eyes and sighed. “Alright,” she resigned at last, meeting Diana’s soft gaze with a tilted smile. “I’ll try. But don’t laugh, okay?”_

_“I won’t,” Diana promised._

* * *

“Where are we going?” Barbara asked as the four friends strode down the dark streets of Toronto.

“I’d like to meet a friend,” Andrew answered, tilting his chin upwards as he slowed his stride so the three girls could keep up with his longer legs. He turned, offering a reassuring smile. “No worries. We aren’t going anywhere crazy.”

Diana paid little attention to the other three. Instead, she let her gaze roam to the old brick buildings that she had taken for granted so many years ago, to the skyscrapers in the distance that lit the dark sky like urban lighthouses, to other groups of friends that laughed and jested as they went along to their own locations. She could hear music and chatter filtering from local bars spaced along the row of buildings they walked beside, distant cheering from a sports bar across the way—perhaps the Leafs or the Jays were playing—and it all felt so foreign but so familiar at the same time. Was that possible? To feel at home, but lost all the same?

She supposed it was.

She buried her hands into the pockets of her navy rider jacket, lowering her gaze to watch as her boots struck rhythmically against the pavement. In all honesty, she didn’t care where they were going. She just wanted to get out of the dorm—to get away from a place that felt so haunted, even without Akko there—and distract her mind. Andrew had asked her to go out, extending the invitation to Hannah and Barbara, who had readily agreed. For much of the walk they’d fawned over Diana, over the axel and loop combo that she would likely never be able to perform again. Over the many doubles she and Andrew had performed together at lesser competitions. Questions about coaching, begging for suggestions or tips, speculating on whether or not Diana would have taken the gold, had she not injured herself. It wasn’t until Andrew said, “Maybe it’s best we leave the skating on the ice,” that they let it go, and Diana couldn’t help but give her friend’s bicep a stealthy squeeze of appreciation.

“Here,” Andrew said, ducking away to the entry of a bar and opening the door for the three. Laughter and chatter and the sound of a soft voice chatting into a microphone immediately spilled into the streets, along with a couple already drunk co-eds who were probably just going to hit another bar. Diana side-stepped, narrowly avoiding a collision with the laughing pair, and followed.

It did not seem like the type of place she would enjoy. It was busy, crowded, dirty. The smell of spilled beer impaled her nostrils and she could feel the soles of her boots sticking to the floor. Hannah and Barbara immediately let out that girly squeal of recognition and dashed into another crowd, no doubt uniting with friends they’d seen only hours before.

But Diana stayed close to Andrew, not willing to leave his side. No, he was her crutch, and she had no shame in admitting that, and so she stuck close, grateful for how tall he was, as he maneuvered carefully through joyful groups.

Until something caught her attention.

The talking in the microphone had stopped. She had not been paying attention, not interested in live music or whatever band that had been paid to assault her ears all night. But then familiar chords flooded into her ears, followed by a soft, deep voice that sounded so familiar.

She froze. Ignored the fact that Andrew kept walking. Ignored the few bodies that bumped against her and the swift apologies that followed. Ignored the shouts of the barkeep for patrons to pick up their pints. Ignored the smells, the sounds, the crowd.

Her eyes found where the band was set up in the corner. It was hard to see through the bodies, but each sliver of a glimpse came together like pieces to a broken puzzle, and she found Akko.

And the world— 

Well, the world fell away.

* * *

_“Kuso,” Akko swore as her hand slipped against the fret and the strings shouted an awkward protest._

_“Try again,” Diana said. She gave her friend an encouraging smile, letting her hands rest against the thick binding of her textbook as she watched Akko stare down at her hands as though she had never seen them before, her tongue sticking slightly out of the side of her mouth as she focused on where they went._

_She started again. Slowly, hesitantly, until finally her fingers seemed to find where they needed to go, and she began to play._

_The verse that filtered from the guitar was slow, broken, but Diana knew it at once._

_“That’s… my favorite song,” she said, watching Akko’s nimble fingers as they gained confidence. Her friend did not look up, but a warm, knowing smile tugged at her lips as she carried on._

_Diana could not stop her own smile. She watched. Watched the way Akko’s hand slid carefully along the fret with each chord change, watched the way the tendons in her hands flexed as her fingers found the strings, watched as her long brown hair fell over the side of a flushed face. Found her red eyes—eyes that did not meet her own because Akko was so concentrated on what she was doing—and sang for her._

* * *

**_You could be my unintended choice_ **

**_To live my life extended_ **

**_You could be the one I’ll always love_**

Akko’s hair was a mess, falling against her cheeks and over her shoulders, damp with sweat from however long she’d been playing. Her hands moved expertly now and she did not even have to find the chords with her eyes, did not have to think about where her fingers needed to fall. Her lips brushed against the microphone as her voice filtered into it, her eyes squeezed shut as though lost in her own world.

Diana had never heard Akko sing before.

**_You could be the one who listens_ **

**_To my deepest inquisitions_ **

**_You could be the one I’ll always love_ **

Her bangs swayed across her forehead, stuck in strands to beads of sweat that trickled down her temples. Her voice was scratchy—scratchy in that way when you don’t think about it, you don’t care, and the words just seem to build in your chest and tumble from your lips—and Diana found herself mesmerized. Captivated by the way her lips moved, by the way her head tilted to get the lines out just right, by the way the muscles in her arms flexed and relaxed as she moved.

**_I’ll be there as soon as I can,_ **

**_But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before_ **

* * *

**First there was the one who challenged**

**All my dreams and all my balance**

**She could never be as good as you**

_Akko’s fingers had stuttered on the strings when Diana started to sing, her eyes lifting to find Diana’s, before settling back into her rhythm with a smile that only deepened._

_Muse was her favorite band. Maybe because it was her mother’s favorite and she had listened to every album so much that she had every song memorized. Maybe because she found every lyric beautiful, every chorus captivating, every song so deep and meaningful it made her think. She didn’t know, for sure, and she couldn’t say why this particular song was her favorite._

_Maybe she found hope in it._

_Hope that love can be found again even after a heartbreak._

_Hope that no one has to be haunted by their past forever._

**I’ll be there as soon as I can,**

**But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before**

* * *

She had not listened to this song in a long time.

Muse was still her favorite—she didn’t think it ever wouldn’t be—but her finger always found the skip button on Unintended. It was too hard to listen to, too hard to delve into that memory with Akko, too hard not to let her mind stray even further beyond. It hurt. It hurt to listen to. It hurt to think about.

It hurt to watch Akko, sitting there singing to a group of people that didn’t know what that song _meant_ —not to her, not to Akko—and she wanted to go but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop watching, she couldn’t stop staring, she couldn’t stop the tears that fogged her eyes.

**_You could be my unintended choice_ **

**_To live my life extended_ **

**_You should be the one I’ll always love_ **

Akko took a breath. She opened her eyes only briefly. Sad, ruby eyes that sparkled beneath the lights of the bar, that stared into nothing at all. She closed them once more, her fingers flowing effortlessly across the strings, letting the melody of Diana’s favorite song fall from her hands.

**_I’ll be there as soon I can_ **

**_But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before_ **

* * *

_Akko’s hands fumbled across the strings, sending another loud, jarring tune echoing through the room. She laughed, letting her fingers fall away and glancing at Diana with a smile. “I haven’t quite got it down all the way, but I’m trying. It’s not so hard to learn. I just need some more practice.” Her eyes squinted. “Why are you looking at me like that?”_

_Diana swallowed. Heat rose to her neck, to her cheeks, to her ears. “I’m not looking at you like anything,” she said stupidly, turning away to stare at the ceiling. The guitar clattered as Akko lowered it to the side of the bed and dropped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough that Diana could hear the soft, shallow breaths, close enough that Diana could feel the heat from that radiated from Akko’s body._

_“I’ll learn it for you, one day,” Akko said. “I’ll learn it perfect and I’ll sing it perfect and I’ll play it just for you.”_

_“You don’t have to do that, Akko. Learn what you want to play.”_

_“I want to.” Akko’s voice dropped to a whisper. She turned her head to the side, warm breath washing over Diana’s shoulder and neck as she spoke. “I want to learn all your favorite songs and play them all for you. Always.”_

_Diana’s jaw clenched. Her eyes searched the ceiling. She could feel her body shaking, her nerves and skin betraying a brain that struggled to maintain the composure she had practiced for so long. There was a lump in her chest, in her throat, in her gut, and she stared straight up because she knew that if she turned her head, she knew that if she looked at Akko—_

_A finger brushed against the back of her hand. Soft. Gentle. Hesitant. She knew Akko was searching her face, was searching for a reaction, was waiting for Diana to pull away or to scold her or laugh it off or suggest they study._

_But she didn’t stop her. Instead, she turned her hand, let Akko slide her fingers across the sensitive skin of her palm, to find a home between her own fingers and squeeze._

_Warmth spread up her arm, dripped through her veins, waking the fire in her core that only Akko seemed to stoke._

_“Diana.”_

_She squeezed her eyes shut. She felt like she was on a cliff, looking down a precipice that there was no coming back from, her feet so close to the edge that all she had to do was take one step forward, to just give way to faith and the belief that Akko would catch her before she hit the bottom._

_She had been there for so, so long._

_Watching._

_Debating._

_Wondering if it was worth it._

_Akko’s hand was shaking in her own. Her breath had shallowed with irregularity, but so had Diana’s._

_She took a deep breath, forcing air into lungs that did not want to work, and turned. She turned to find Akko looking back, to find crimson eyes that held her own, a fire that warmed her, a girl that…_

_Did she?_

_Diana swore that Akko could hear, could feel, the way her heart was hammering against her ribcage. It hurt, but it hurt good. Her heartbeat rose to her throat, to her head. Throbbing, thrumming, numbing._

_She was so close. God, so close. Akko’s eyes fell to Diana’s lips and stayed, lingered, and Diana realized that her best friend was at her own cliff, was weighing her own options._

_“I’m scared.”_

_Diana did not mean for the words to fall from her lips. The fear had been there for so long but saying it made it so real, made it so palpable, and the two breathed them in, drank them deep, and shared it._

_Akko lifted her free hand that quaked, that jerked with uncommitted hesitation before finally falling, warm and soft and gentle, against Diana’s cheek. A thumb brushed against her temple, tenderly pushed a few strands of gold behind her ear. Traced the side of her nose, her jaw, fell to the corner of her lips and lingered._

_Diana swallowed, tilted her chin to lean into the touch. Akko was so gentle, so caring, so… safe._

_“I’m scared, too,” Akko said at last, her voice a raspy whisper. “But it’s just me. And it’s you. And—”_

_Fingers fell beneath Diana’s chin, pulled in an invitation that Diana accepted without even thinking about it. Akko rose on an elbow. Slowly, waiting to see if Diana would move, if she would pull away, if she would protest._

_A fist slammed against Diana’s bedroom door. Hard, urgent, rapping an irregular pattern, and the spell—if it could be called a spell, or perhaps just the culmination of the inevitable—was broken. Diana jerked away, Akko fell back to the bed, and the faltering, strained voice of Anna rang out from the other side:_

_“Diana, I need you to come here. Now.” A beat, a gasping breath, before, “And Akko, you should probably go home.”_

* * *

**_I’ll be there as soon as I can,_ **

**_But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before_ **

A breath. Fingers fell away from the strings, but the remnants of the tune lingered, hung in the air. Akko stared straight forward, and Diana knew that she was lost. Whether she was lost in the same memory, in the same world, she did not know, because the labyrinth they had become was haunted at each turn.

“ _Before you_.”

“Diana, are you okay?”

Andrew’s voice, loud over the din of the bar, shook her back to where she was. She swiped the sleeve of her jacket across soggy eyes and looked up to find him staring down at her, concern etched into shimmering green eyes.

“I think I need to go home,” she said simply. She did not want to be here—here in this bar with Akko and a song that was so intimate between them instead on display for everyone who would never appreciate the meaning, the moment—and all she wanted to do was disappear. “You can stay.”

“No, no.” He smiled. Placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll walk you back. Let’s go.”

“But Hannah. Barbara.” Diana glanced through the crowd, unable to find the two girls that had accompanied them. It was too busy, too crowded, and too many people were taller than she was.

“I’ll come back for them. They’ll be fine for a little while.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before dropping it, taking her hand instead, lacing their fingers together in a way that brought Diana comfort, in a way that grounded her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Andrew got there first.

“If they ask, I’ll tell them something urgent came up.”

Diana nodded. She was grateful, but she did not feel the need to say it. Something told her that he already knew.

“Come on,” he said, giving her a gentle tug towards the exit. “Let’s go.”

Diana turned, a final glance to where the band was set up—but Akko was gone.

* * *

“ _Sorry about leaving the dishes all day. I cleaned your tea mug for you. I wiped down the counters and swept, too. - Akko”_

Diana gripped the edge of the counter as she stared down at the post-it note that Akko had stuck to the faucet. She stared at the note and she cried.

She cried because Akko’s penmanship had not changed.

She cried because she was stupid and opened Spotify on her phone and had not stopped listening to Unintended for the half hour she’d been back at the dorm.

She cried because five years of Akko were just… gone.

Five years where Akko changed without her. Where Akko grew without her. Where Akko _became_ without her.

Five years of a void in the place of what should have been.

Why had Akko not written her? Why had she not called? Why had she not made _any_ attempt to stay in her life? Was she that horrible? Did she regret everything that much?

A thump. Diana hit pause on Spotify, looked up to find Angel staring at her from atop the counter.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Diana said to the little tuxedo, sniffling. “Get down.”

Angel’s ears perked forward, her whiskers twitching. Her tail lifted and swayed behind her as she stepped forward, delicately balancing on the very edge of the counter, before rubbing gently against Diana’s sleeve. A purr rumbled through her small body.

“Don’t do that,” Diana said, adding as much force as she could through sniffles and pulling her arm back. “Get down.”

Angel stared up at her with wide, yellow eyes that seemed far too intelligent for an animal. Her tail flicked to the side. A rumbling half-purr, half-mewl left her mouth and she moved forward once more, dipping her head to push against Diana’s hand.

With a sigh and a final glance at Akko’s post-it, which she reached forward and pulled down to shove into the pocket of her rider, she turned to Angel. The small cat was still watching her, still waiting, and finally Diana lifted a tentative hand and placed it gently atop her head.

She did not like cats. She had never liked cats. They did what they wanted, they learned nothing, they didn’t listen, didn’t offer the companionship that dogs did. They were just a sassy mess that required cleaning up after. That was all.

But there stood Angel. Angel who looked back at her with knowing eyes. Angel who rubbed her only gently, who seemed only interested in what Diana was doing—in what Diana felt?—and, with a sharp pang of sadness, she realized that the cat had not jumped onto the counter to be a menace, to be an annoyance, to deliberately get on Diana’s nerves. No, she was there to take away the one thing that she knew Diana felt.

Loneliness.

And so Diana gently ran her palm along Angel’s back. She stopped crying. She smiled as the little feline purred and whirled on the counter, headbutting her wrist and leaning into scratches and pets. She sneezed into her shoulder, she wiped at a dripping nose with her sleeve, but she kept petting the cat that she thought she would hate.

Because maybe Angel was lonely right then, too, and it just didn’t make sense to have two lonely people in the same house.

* * *

The clicking of the dorm room door jolted Diana awake. She shifted on the couch, feeling the crick in her neck and the stiffness in her legs but unable to move because Angel had made herself comfortable atop the blanket she was under.

The telly was still playing. Hiccup was holding a fish toward Toothless, who snagged the offering and chomped it down quickly. She had not realized she’d drifted off so soon into the movie, but crying made her tired, and Angel was comfortable, and her body was exhausted from skating and studying all week. Diana flicked on her phone. Not even eleven. She had expected Akko to be out much later.

“Oh. Uh, hey,” Akko said, placing her guitar case next to their entry table and smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you— Oh,” she suddenly blurted, bursting forward. “Pst! Angel, get down!”

“It’s alright,” she replied, moving to sit up. Angel hopped down, bolting off to disappear into Akko’s room. “You didn’t have to do that. She was fine.”

“You’re allergic,” Akko replied, raising one eyebrow. Diana knew her face was puffy—from crying, from allergies, from just waking up—and she scooted up against the armrest of the couch and rubbed at her face, hiding a sniffle.

“It’s quite fine,” she said again. “I’m sure I have claritin somewhere.”

“I could—” Akko stopped, her gaze flicking to the movie, where Toothless was spitting half a fish at Hiccup. Her hair was still a mess, falling tangled around the side of her face, her bangs awry across her forehead. Her t-shirt had dried, but Diana could smell the faint scent of sweat. She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, the muscles in her forearms flexing and relaxing, and for the first time Diana noticed a single tattoo on the outside of her wrist—simple dots that Diana did not understand. “I love this movie,” she said.

“Yeah,” Diana agreed, turning her attention back to the film and curling her toes around the gap between the couch cushions. “Me too.”

Neither of them said the obvious. That they had seen it together, for the first time, when it came out in theaters. That Diana had cried and Akko had laughed. That they’d talked about it the entire way home—about how much they’d enjoyed it, about how cute Toothless was, about how kind Hiccup was—and all Diana could think was that the time she’d spent with Akko was much better than the film itself.

Akko stood for a moment, shuffling her feet against the carpet, her entire fists buried into her pockets, until Diana finally said:

“You can watch it with me, if you want.”

A shy smile twitched across Akko’s lips. She looked to Diana, to the empty space that she’d made on the couch just for Akko, and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she replied. “If you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Diana said as Akko slowly settled down, leaning against the opposite arm rest and pulling herself into the smallest position possible, leaving a large gap between them. “For cleaning.”

Akko nodded. She glanced over, fleeting, unsure, before staring intently at the screen. “Yeah,” she murmured. “You’re welcome.”

Diana did not say anything else. And Akko didn’t, either. She didn’t know what to say. Where to go. She didn’t know Akko anymore, didn’t know what she was like or what she _liked_ or what she did or who she _was._

Five years.

Five years of nothing. Five years of void.

Five years without Akko.

But as Diana let her gaze blur with her thoughts on Akko, on the girl who left as much space as possible between them but stayed nonetheless, she realized that five years did not have to become six, become seven, become forever. The girl she sat beside was a stranger now, but it didn’t have to stay that way.

When the movie ended, Diana did not cry. Akko did not laugh. Instead, they went their separate ways, a hastily murmured goodnight forced between them before their doors closed in unison.

They were different. They had changed.

But they had a choice.

And as she lay in bed, breathing slowly, letting the memories of the past fade into the girl who had sat with her, the short girl with the messy brown hair and the crooked smile and the practiced confidence, the girl with the same fiery red eyes and the same passions that had merely grown alongside her, Diana made her decision.

They were the same song. Only the chords had changed--

And she would learn them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `UNINTENDED - **MUSE**`


	6. Lorde Have Mercy

**CHAPTER SIX**

LORDE HAVE MERCY

* * *

_AKKO_

* * *

“How’s that awkward roomie sitch goin’?”

Akko frowned, tugging hard at the laces of her skates and ignoring the half-dozen eyes that had turned to stare at her. Everyone on the team knew that Akko was roomed with her ex-best friend—thanks, mostly, to Amanda, and then Wangari once she got hold of the information—and it had become a daily locker room chat that made her feel more uncomfortable than it probably should have.

“Eh.” Akko tied off her laces and looked up, ignoring the shit-eating grin that Amanda wore, and regarding Wangari with a neutral shrug. “Still awkward.”

“Can’t believe you haven’t asked for a transfer. I would’ve turned and walked right out that door, first day.” She flashed a smile as she rose, tugging her practice jersey over head. “Then again, that bitch slept with my ex-boyfriend, so hopefully yours didn’t do anything that bad. Instant karma, though. Pregnant and stuck in that shit Texas town,” she added with a chuckle.

Akko turned back to her locker. Threw her converse inside. No, there hadn’t been any animosity, but really… there hadn’t been anything. Awkward _was_ the true nature of the game, and Akko didn’t know what she preferred: the tense fear of being in the same space with Diana alone, or the ability to at least rage at her a little.

Kuso, their relationship reminded her of those stubborn teen years when every conversation with Okaa-san was a chore.

“How were classes?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

“Skating tonight?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I feed Angel a treat?”

“Yeah. But not too many.”

“Tidy the living space, would you?”

“Alright.”

“Going out. Cheers.”

“Later.”

It was nothing more than a dance around the past. Avoidance at its finest. They both held conversations with Angel longer than each other—sometimes even said things to each other _through_ Angel, like, “She sure looks happy you’re home!” or “She’s bored when I study, so we’re playing games together.”—and, more than ever, Akko had become grateful for the cheerful little cat that readily accepted the strained attention of both girls.

“Ice is smooth,” Sucy grunted as she stepped into the locker room. “Princess squad went a little long, but I couldn’t say anything. Meridies was there and I’m not trying to get shanked with a skate blade.”

“I think she’d go for something classier, like a throat slash,” Amanda said. “Seems the type.”

“Merideez nuts,” Wangari added with a hip thrust.

The sound of a stick thudding onto the soft locker room floor pulled everybody’s attention to Constanze, who merely looked at Wangari and shook her head.

“You think of something better then, Charlie Chaplin,” Wangari grumbled.

Akko ignored them, slinging her stick over her shoulder and trudging toward the door. “Nelson’s probably waiting. C’mon.”

She was well aware of a taller figure striding up next to her, lingering at her side. The sound of gum smacking and a bubble popping against the side of the other girl’s lips gave away Jasminka far before her voice did.

“You alright, Akko? You seem—”

“Ice fairies!” Amanda blurted, waving her stick in the air and mocking a jump, her blades nearly striking a dodging Constanze as she kicked her legs out. “How was your twirling today? I bet the ice can’t wait for real skaters. Not talkin’ about you, of course, Lotte,” she added, reaching out to ruffle Lotte’s short hair as the girl strode by. “Bet you were the only saving grace.”

Lotte shrank away a little, fumbling to put on glasses that immediately fogged over, and ducked her head to hide a smile in her scarf.

“Oh, shut up, you big dyke,” Hannah snapped, achieving a high-pitched giggle from Barbara before that tall guy—the one Akko had seen around, the one she didn’t know—whirled.

“I’m gay. Want to call me a fag and see what happens, or would you rather never say that in my presence again? Your choice, Hannah.” His jaw set in a rigid line, tendons flexing beneath smooth skin.

Flames burst across Hannah’s cheeks—and Barbara’s, too, but she turned her head to the side to try to hide it—and she quickly said, “I, uh—I was just playing. Sorry, Andrew.”

“No.” Andrew froze, nodding to Amanda. “Apologize to her. Now.”

Diana was at his side, staring up at him with her eyebrows scrunched together. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were flushed red from skating, her wavy hair pulled down into a low ponytail that draped over the shoulder of her Patagonia sweatshirt. Her black leggings were tight—so tight that Akko let her eyes linger far too long—and the toes inside matching tan socks flexed against the floor. She held her skates delicately in one hand, blades already protected as if she’d taken care of it straight off the ice. Akko opened a gloved hand in the smallest of waves, her lips framing a, “Hi,” that Diana did not acknowledge.

“Sorry,” Hannah grumbled.

Amanda was wearing a grin so wide that Akko thought her cheeks might burst open. All she could do was nod, her throat constricting with withheld laughter. “It’s fine,” she finally managed to say, eyes flitting up and down Hannah’s body. “I am what I eat. Hit me up next time you’re hungry, I’ll take you out.”

Hannah scoffed. She opened her mouth to say something, but a swift elbow from Barbara ended whatever she was going to say. Instead, she turned, her face a molten core of embarrassment, and kept walking. Diana had turned, had said something low to Andrew. He mumbled back. Laughed. She laughed, too.

Akko missed that laugh. The way her lips curled back around perfect teeth, the way she tried to hold herself back from being too loud, but there were times when she couldn’t help it and it just made Akko laugh harder because _Diana_ was laughing so freely.

The corner of her mouth wrinkled as she waited for the rest of the skaters to walk by, gaze shifting to the smooth ice that waited, the frozen field that welcomed her each day, that hugged her in a chill that Akko had learned to enjoy, surrounded by people she could laugh with and jest with and play with.

But the rink was not the coldest part of her life any longer, and as her blades struck the freshly groomed ice, she was skating alone.

* * *

_But honey, I’ll be seeing you wherever I go_

_But honey, I’ll be seeing you down every road_

_I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it—_

Avery let out a dramatic sigh and fell back on Akko’s bed, shoving her laptop to the side. Akko ignored her, rapping her pencils against her desk as she sang along to the song they’d listened to at least a hundred times that day alone. She stared at the blank word document on her own laptop as she sang, her mind racing over the lyrics, over the expertly composed shift in chord and key that echoed an emotional tune along with the singer.

“I am so fucking sick of this song,” Avery grumbled, grabbing Akko’s stuffed Totoro and chucking it up into the air to catch when it came tumbling down. “I mean, it’s good and all, but for the love of—”

“I could listen to it all day,” Akko argued, shrugging. “Writing about it, though.” She frowned at the empty document. “Kind of a no-go. Too bad this is a composure study and not a comparison. I kinda don’t get why Cally won’t let us do that.”

“Because she wants to make our life miserable.” Avery’s hands missed and Totoro smacked her right in the face. She set him gently to the side and turned her head on Akko’s pillow. “Can we listen to, like, something else?”

“We really need to—”

“Just for a minute? Please.”

Akko side-eyed Spotify and, with lips pursed in thought, paused the song in the middle of the chorus. “Got one better. I’ll play you a song, how’s that?”

Avery flushed, her eyes softening as she watched Akko reach for her guitar. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Akko brought the base of the guitar over her bare legs, her fingers running down the frets. “Now, I don’t want you to drop your panties too quick or anything, but—”

Her fingers hit the strings hard as she burst into a loud song, struggling to sing through laughter.

“Baby _shark_! Doo doo, doo doo doo doo!” Akko stood, taking a step closer, carrying on with relentless volume, well aware that Diana could probably hear and may in fact have jumped out the window. Angel, in her own distress, leapt down from where she’d been perched on Akko’s desk and went screeching under the bed.

“No! No!” Avery shrieked, her hands clasping over her ears as she started cackling.

“Baby _shark!_ ”

“Oh, God, please stop!” Avery cried, swatting at Akko when she got closer. “Please! Lorde again. Lorde again! I’ll listen to Lorde for the rest of my life—”

Akko flashed a grin, letting her hands fall and the final strum fade into nothing before setting her guitar back down. “Complain again and it’s Let It Go, only I won’t stop when you ask,” Akko said, dropping back into her desk chair and hitting the play button on Spotify once more. Lorde filtered back into the dorm room, a welcome relief, and Akko shouted a quick, “Sorry, Diana!”

“Ah, she probably liked it,” Avery said, settling back into comfort on Akko’s bed with her arms folded over her chest. “Probably enjoys crap like that.”

Akko shook her head. “No, she likes good music.”

“How do you know?” Avery raised an eyebrow. “You said yourself you haven’t even talked to her in years. For all you know, she’s probably still bopping to those shitty Shiny Chariot albums.” Avery mocked a cringe. “Or, worse. Country.”

“Hey! Shiny Chariot was amazing—”

Avery sighed. “ _Was._ But, yeah, yeah, please don’t get into that speech about how her music changed your life and made you want to major in this and all that crap again. At least she’s gone and you’ll have the opportunity to manage some _good_ bands when we graduate.”

Akko ignored her, opening her first line on the document. Diana used to say that the first sentence of an essay was the hardest part. The rest came easy. She just had to get it out.

_While the tune of Lorde’s Green Light from the verse to the chorus can easily be mistaken for a key change, the song actually employs a mixolydian mode that enhances the emotional energy of the lyrics._

There. Something. She let her hands fall from the keyboard, re-reading her sentence and focusing, once more, on the flux between verse and chorus.

“At least this is good make out music,” Avery said.

Akko turned to find Avery giving her that look—that quirked smile, those hooded eyes—and sighed. “Ave, this is due tomorrow and, to be honest, I do not want to make out with you right now.”

“We don’t really have to kiss,” Avery mumbled. “We could, just, you know—”

Avery’s hand disappeared down the front of her jeans and she arched her back, her eyes fluttering closed as a low, raspy moan slipped through her lips.

Akko rolled her eyes, pulling her legs up onto her chair and hitting replay on Green Light. Avery kept going, her moans rising in volume as she opened her eyes, her lips parted, and gazed at Akko.

“Look.” Akko shoved herself back from her desk. “If you’re going to just jerk off, can you at least go to your own dorm and do it? I’m trying to get this done.”

Avery pulled her hand from her pants and rose, letting her laptop smack against the wall with neglect. She stepped towards Akko, reaching forward to let one arm snake around her neck. “We could use a break.” She let her hand trail down Akko’s collarbone, down over a thin Jays shirt. “Mm. No bra, too? That saves us at least ten seconds.”

“Ten minutes if you’re trying to get it off,” Akko grumbled.

“I’m down to nine,” Avery said, laughing. She tugged at Akko’s legs, dropping them to the floor before straddling her waist. Fingers skimmed over her abdomen, hooked beneath Akko’s soft red shorts, and ghosted a touch in a way that Akko could not stop herself from reacting to.

Avery pressed her forehead against Akko’s, grinning deviously. “And you can’t even tell me you’re not in the mood,” she whispered, pulling her hand up to rub wet fingers together. She grinded against Akko’s thigh, leaning forward to gasp against the shell of a sensitive ear.

Akko glanced down at Avery’s legs. How her jeans hugged her perfectly. Already unbuttoned, unzipped. Ready. Her shirt slightly raised, giving Akko the smallest glimpse of the smooth, alabaster skin that she had touched so many times before.

But she looked up, and she did not see Avery—because she did not want it to be Avery.

“Diana’s home,” Akko grumbled, reaching up to press against Avery’s chest and push gently. “And we’ve got to finish this essay.”

Avery’s dark eyebrows pinched together. “So turn the music up. It’s not like she’ll hear. We can be quiet.”

“That’s not the point,” Akko said. She was growing irritated. To make a point, she reached over to her laptop and turned off the music.

“You’ve never cared about your roommates being home before,” Avery murmured, cocking her head to the side. “Why’s Diana any different?”

Akko said nothing. Looked away, to where Angel had finally snuck back out from under the bed and was curled up in an open Amazon box that Akko had kept just for her.

“Oh.” Realization coasted over Avery’s expression and she stood, swiping her fingers against her jeans and zipping them back up. “Got it. You’re into her.”

“That’s not it,” Akko snapped back. “I don’t even know her.”

“And since when have you cared about _knowing_ somebody?” Avery grumbled. “Let’s see. Tall. Hot. Sexy accent.” She ticked each quality off on her fingers before meeting Akko’s gaze. “I’ve seen you hook up with less while you were completely sober.”

“I think I’d be able to concentrate more on this essay if I was alone.” Akko stood, adjusting her clothes as she stepped towards her bedroom door. “I’ll catch you later, Ave.”

Avery nodded. “Alright. Yeah. Probably better for me, too.” She offered Akko a small smile. “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to push too hard. It’s just, you know, sometimes you’re easily persuaded.”

“Yeah.” Akko shrugged, shoving her hands into the front pockets of her shorts as she kicked open the door with her foot to let Avery out. “I know. It’s fine. Just… not today.”

As soon as the door to the dorm closed behind Avery, Diana emerged from her bedroom. Her long hair was still damp from a shower, curling around her cheeks and draping over her shoulders. She was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that could rival Akko’s in length, and Akko could not stop her eyes from straying to those muscular legs as Diana seemed to pay her no mind and went straight for the kettle.

As Diana turned, the kettle held beneath the faucet for more water, she finally lifted her eyes to meet Akko’s. She watched a moment, her gaze flicking back and forth between the water and her roommate, before finally asking, “Everything alright? You’re a bit pale.”

No.

“Yeah,” Akko lied, forcing a weak smile before turning back to her own room. “I’m good.”

But she wasn’t good. She hadn’t been good for so long—and all it took was seeing those ocean blue eyes again for Akko to know that.

* * *

“It’s just that, like, I don’t know what to do,” Akko groaned, grabbing Lotte’s pillow and smashing it over her face to muffle her own voice. “We haven’t really talked and everything is so awkward and I don’t know whether to change rooms or just, like, suck it up.”

“Akko, you are the absolute best at making friends,” Lotte said. She crossed her legs on the floor, leaning over the abandoned board game to begin putting all the cards back into a pile. “It’s so easy for you. Just treat her like anybody else you don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Sucy added, smirking as she bent over her tarantula’s habitat to watch it crawl against the wall. “Just annoy the hell out of her.”

Lotte huffed. “Akko’s not annoying, Suce.”

“Debatable.”

“I _can’t_ treat her like somebody I don’t know,” Akko whined, throwing the pillow to the side and sitting up. “We were… really close.”

“Can I have permission to follow you around and play that stupid Gotye song every time you two are together?” Sucy asked, turning her attention away from her tarantula to sneer at Akko.

“No,” Akko and Lotte said in unison.

“ _But you didn’t have to cuuuuuuuut me off,_ ” Sucy sang off-key, bobbing her head to the silent beat of her own mind.

“No,” Akko and Lotte said again.

Sucy shrugged. “Fine. Want me to just mow her over with the Zamboni next time she’s skating?”

“ _No!_ ” Lotte hissed.

“Maybe,” Akko muttered, but then followed it with a quick, “Kidding.” She glanced at Lotte’s alarm clock, frowning at the numbers that glared back at her, and looked down to the phone she was twirling in her hands. “Is it stupid that I really don’t even want to go home?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Lotte shot a glare at Sucy, whose attention had returned to her pet. She hovered next to the small terrarium, her long lavender hair barely concealing bright eyes that didn’t move as she spoke.

“It is stupid that she doesn’t wat to go home,” Sucy replied, uncapping a small jar to fish out a mealworm. She dropped it into the top of the habitat, watching as the tarantula slowly moved toward the offering. “You haven’t said this girl killed your puppy or stole your boy—sorry, girlfriend—or tried to stab you while you were sleeping. Sure, you didn’t talk for a few years.” Her lips twitched upwards as the tarantula took hold of the mealworm before turning toward the other two. “Do you know how often that happens? All the time. Yeah, okay, she’s different. People change. The world doesn’t stop moving just because you can’t see it. So, you need to decide if whatever happened between you two is bad enough to not try, or suck it up and stop avoiding it.” Sucy huffed, turning back to watch her tarantula eat. “And off the record, I’m pretty sure the sign on the door outside says the maximum capacity of idiots in this room at any given time is 1. We are currently exceeding that.”

Akko said nothing. She twisted on Lotte’s bed, kicking her legs over the side. “Guess you’re right,” she grumbled. “I am being kinda dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Akko. But she does have a point. You should stop avoiding it.”

“She’s pretty dumb most of the time,” Sucy snarked back. She spun in her chair, her grin widening as narrowed eyes fell on her shorter roommate. “Speaking of avoiding.” Her smile grew. “How’s Amanda?”

Lotte dropped the stack of cards she’d carefully arranged. They scattered across the board, the carpet, skimmed beneath the bed. A blush so deep it hid her freckles erupted in her cheeks. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stumbled.

“Wait, what?” Akko asked, eyes flicking between her two friends.

“Never seen the way she looks at Amanda?” Sucy snorted. “God, you are dense. Both of you.” She shook her head, her hair swaying around her shoulders. “So glad I’m not stuck with these girl problems.”

“It’s a _friend_ problem,” Akko blurted.

“Yeah. A f-friend problem!” Lotte stuttered. “Besides, you don’t know anything about it because you’re ace!”

Sucy laughed. She rose, her finger gently trailing down the side of her tarantula’s glass, and smirked. “Better to be ace than a joker,” she said, grabbing a hoodie from the back of her chair and carefully stepping over the mess of cards Lotte was scrambling to gather. “I’m headed out,” she added. “I don’t need this rubbing off on me.”

Lotte looked up, the few cards she’d collected slipping from her fingers. “Wait, what? It’s after dark. Where are you going?”

Sucy turned, glancing between the two red faces that stared back at her. “I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said, chuckling. “Let you both sort out 2+2 on your own. I’ve got harder equations to solve.”

* * *

“Bloody _hell_!”

Akko froze in front of her dorm room door, her hand lingering above the knob as the sound of crashing, swearing, and something being thrown against the floor echoed from inside. She hesitated, thinking that _maybe_ she should just go back to Lotte’s and hang for a bit, until she heard Diana screech:

“I will toss you in the damned bin!”

Oh. That didn’t sound good. She quietly keyed into the room, pushing the heavy door open a crack as she peered inside.

The floor was covered in cables and boxes and cardboard strips and foam that Angel was actively chewing on. The television sat askew on a stand that was pulled away from the wall, pushed precariously to the edge to where it could easily fall with a single bump.

And, in the middle of it all, was Diana. She knelt on the floor, one hand pushed through her hair as she stared red-faced down at the mess she’d created, oblivious to the arrival of her roommate and the noise she was making halfway down the hall.

“Uh.” Akko let the door shut quietly behind her. “Everything okay?”

Diana’s head shot up. She scrambled to her feet, brushing pieces of foam and bits of cardboard off her legs before straightening her composure. “Yes, yes,” she blurted, her cheeks reddening. “Just getting this situated is all. I, uh, definitely have everything together.” She glanced around her, shooing Angel away from foam that she only returned to a moment later. “My apologies for the mess. I’ll have it cleaned up right away.”

Akko’s gaze trailed over the boxes. A Playstation 4. Controllers still in their boxes. A Playstation VR with the headset tossed onto the couch. Cables _everywhere_.

“If you need help, I can—”

“No!” Diana pushed her hair away from her forehead once more, stepping barefoot on an HDMI cable before kicking it away. “I’ve done this so many times before. It just seems the equipment has changed with the new model, you see.”

Akko grunted, hiding a smirk into the shoulder of her hoodie as she beelined for the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Yeah. Keeps getting more complicated with those two cords, eh?” She turned, uncapping the water and taking a swig as she gestured toward the television. “Back of TV. Into console. Outlet. Into console.” She pursed her lips, forcing herself to swallow another sip of water. “I can see where you’ve gotten confused.”

Diana just stared back, looking down at the tornado of packaging and scratching the back of her neck. “It’s been a long day,” she murmured. “I suppose I’m just out of it.”

“I didn’t know you gamed,” Akko said after an awkward pause, carefully avoiding comparing the now Diana to the Diana of the past. She leaned against the counter, watching as Diana navigated the mess to try to gather everything into a more _organized_ mess.

“Oh. Yes.” Diana nodded, turning away to bend over and grab some cords and sweet Chariot those legs and that—

“I just left my gear back at home.” She straightened up, breaking Akko’s attention away from her body, and stared ahead for a moment before adding, “Uh, England, that is. Not… here.”

Akko nodded. “I could’ve just grabbed my console from my parents’ house if you wanted to play,” she offered, though her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Diana had never had interest in games before—she’d watched Akko, but that was all—and the way everything was strewn about showed that the girl had never set a console up in her life. “So, uh, what’s your favorite game?”

A cord slipped from nimble fingers. She turned, her face and neck cherry red, and somehow managed to choke out, “Uh.” Her bright eyes skimmed the room, as if looking for an answer. “What’s that bloke’s name,” she muttered to herself.

Akko stifled a giggle.

“Mario,” Diana finally blurted out, looking very accomplished with herself as her lips spread into the _cutest_ smile—

Akko blinked. Looked down into her water bottle. “Mario is, uh, Nintendo,” she murmured. “I mean, there’s _some_ games you can play on a PS4, but—” She looked up, purposefully avoiding Diana and finding Angel, instead, who had decided now was the appropriate time for the zoomies and was dashing through boxes and paper and plastic and foam. “Which one is your favorite?”

Diana froze again. Her fingers flexed over the cable she’d picked up once more, a swallow traveling down the front of her throat as she stared at Akko. “The, uh, one with the green guy,” she said.

Akko raised an eyebrow. Took a long, slow sip of water, before meeting blue eyes and offering, “Yoda?”

“Yes.” Diana nodded emphatically. “Yoda.”

This time, Akko could not stop herself. She slammed the plastic bottle onto the counter, ignoring the water that spouted from the top and sprayed across the front of her hoodie, and burst into laughter. Diana just stared at her like a deer caught in headlights as Akko slouched against a surface that barely held her up, burying her face in her hands and choking for air in between howling all over again.

“His name—” Akko gasped, stopping to laugh all over again. “His name is—” More laughter. “Y-Yoshi,” she finally spat out, quelling her laughter with the look of sheer terror that coasted across Diana’s face. “Yoda is Star Wars.”

“Right. Um. That’s—that’s what I meant.” Diana tugged at the collar of her t-shirt. 

“Sure. Out of curiosity, can you name literally any other game in the history of gaming?”

A long pause. Muted laughter from students gathered outside. The distant sound of a car honking. Plastic skimming against the carpet as Angel tackled her prey with reckless abandon.

“Uh… Candy Crush?”

Akko abandoned her water to carefully step over boxes, taking the cable from Diana’s limp hand. “You could just admit when you have no idea what you’re doing.” She shook her head, snorting in laughter that she so badly wanted to let loose but didn’t want to embarrass Diana anymore than she already had at the same time. “I swear, some things never change.”

The words left her mouth before she had a chance to stop them—

She froze. Glanced down at the cable in her hand. Up to Diana’s face. God, she had grown. Akko was used to looking down at her, not up. Her eyes ran over the curve of her cheekbones, over the bump in a nose scattered with freckles, over the nearly white eyebrows and the bright eyes that met her own, briefly, before darting away.

Akko swallowed. “I’ll, uh, set this up for you,” she choked out, forcing a nervous laugh as she scratched the back of her neck and looked away. “So. VR, eh?”

“Yeah,” Diana said, her voice soft, demure. “The gentleman at the store said it would be fun to play together.” Her toes curled around the carpet and she looked down. “I mean, um, with others. With friends.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, whispering a barely audible, “Lord have mercy.”

“Right.” Akko nodded. She forced a smile, turning to Diana, struggling to think or act or speak through the fog in her brain, before finally saying, “Let’s get this set up, then.” Her smile widened at the crick in Diana’s lips, at the dimple that Akko hadn’t seen in so long. She tilted her head to the television, to the many items that Diana had likely spent a fortune on.

“Come on,” she said, trying very hard not to think about the gorgeous girl in front of her and the way her belly stirred with every glance. “I’ll show you how.”


	7. Blood on the Ice

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

BLOOD ON THE ICE

* * *

_ DIANA _

* * *

_ “Gorgeous. Hold the landing—hold the landing. Very good,” Diana’s coach called from the side of the rink, watching with a proud smile as she flew around the corner, cutting diagonally across the ice to transition into a smooth, effortless double salchow. She landed expertly on an outer edge, arms a fluid extension from her sides, opposite leg reaching out as she held an arc before sliding back into easy crossovers once more. _

_ The jumps were fairly simple—doubles she had mastered long ago, before even the idea of high-level international competitions like the Olympics were a passing thought in her mind—and each natural movement allowed her to concentrate on the tight but expressive form that would carry her higher. _

_ She’d already qualified, beating out dozens of seasoned skaters who should have intimidated her. They hadn’t. She found herself on the ice that day to prove something to herself, to hold a promise that she’d made long ago. In her mind, she had not been competing against names that carried the weight of gold, that carried the dreams of young figure skaters exactly like she was. _

_ She was competing against herself. _

_ It hadn’t surprised her that she had qualified for the team—after all, a triple axel into a triple loop was all but unheard of, especially at her age—but to say she had been proud would have been a lie. It was merely a stepping stone, an obligatory task that served as a means to an end, and now was the time that mattered—the low between two highs—where she and her coach could do nothing but spend hours on the ice, preparing a routine that had no option other than bringing the entire world to their feet. _

_ There were long, arduous hours where her legs ached and her mind fogged through movements that came easy. She always had to be focused on the next jump, on the next turn, on the next spin, and never did her mind linger too long on a jump that she was already in the middle of. _

_ After all, she always landed. And, even when she didn’t, a bruised leg and a bruised ego was easily remedied by brushing the mistake away and correcting it for next time. _

_ But maybe the mistake she made that day was not in the simple manipulation of her body, of her feet, of her skates. Maybe the mistake was in the confidence that she had gained, in the lingering elation of performing something that few others could. _

_ Once birds spread their wings to fly, what need was there to look down? _

_ “Come off the circle. Double axel, two into a sit spin,” her coach called, gripping the edge of the rink with gloved hands as he watched. _

_ She made no reaction to what he said. She rarely did. He knew she had heard. She flew into crossovers to the opposite side of the rink, her blades gliding over the smooth, polished ice. The wind from the speed she picked up whipped a few strands of blonde past her face as she glanced over her shoulder. She skimmed an easy bracket at the point of the turn, her arms pulling out behind her waist, upper body arcing in preparation for the jump. _

_ She switched edges, took a breath, and leapt. _

_ The jump itself felt perfect. Her body was tight, straight, her arms folded easily into her chest, letting the air time linger as long as possible. But that’s where it ended—her brain, overworked and overfocused and over _ loaded _ —had moved on to the spin. _

_ Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was carelessness. Maybe it was a lot of things, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Her toe pick found the ice instead of her blade, stopping all momentum on the spot, and all at once it was no longer about the spin. It was about the fall. _

_ And she knew how to fall—a fall is the first thing a figure skater learns, because it’s crucial to avoid injury—but there was a difference between falls that could be saved and falls that were doomed. _

_ And the moment her toe pick gauged into that ice, she knew which fall it would be. Every fiber in her body was going backwards at a speed that had needed a safe landing, or even a small stumble, to recover from. The sudden impact made her upper body jerk forward and she struggled to minimize impact, to force her muscles to react, but it was too late. _

_ She heard the crack before anything else. It echoed through the rink like the disjointed chorus of a cruel song. Then, three sensations, all at once— _

_ Pain, searing and stabbing with relentless anger. _

_ Warmth, flooding her legs. _

_ And fear. Bright, hot fear that surged through her entire body as she looked down and realized that her leg was not meant to go in that direction, and her black tights were torn at the shin, and that something white was jutting from beneath. _

_ But her brain was not processing what she was seeing. Her vision blurred. She struggled to get up, only for an animalistic cry of agony to hit her throat and then the air. _

_ She looked down again— _

_ There was blood on the ice. Blood pooling beneath her leg, smearing over the scarred remains of the failed landing that had brought her down. _

_ She was aware of her coach sprinting across the ice. Of other skaters and onlookers that had flown over in a desperate attempt to help, only to be shooed away by frantic voices that she did not recognize. _

_ She wanted to scream. Her dry lips protested as she opened her mouth. Her breath came in ragged gasps that she could not control, but tried to nonetheless, as the world around her faded with the fear and the shock and the pain. _

_ Until all she could see, when she looked down once more, was a single crimson rivulet of blood reaching toward her hand. _

_ Why was there blood on the ice? _

_ She reached forward, her breath loud and throbbing in her head, and traced her fingers over the warm blood, over the cold ice, just to see if it was real. _

* * *

She walked with a limp.

Every step was a torment. Not on her body, but her mind. The haunting reality that she was not the same, that she never  _ would  _ be the same, and her own, careless mistake had led to her current circumstances.

Just getting back onto the ice, getting back into a world where she once excelled, had been a hurdle that she, many times, had not been sure she would overcome. But she could afford the best surgeon, the best doctors, the best physical therapists, and a mix of sheer determination and the best England had to offer had made it possible.

And she did not limp on the ice. And she had not forgotten how to skate.

Her body just needed a few reminders, that was all.

She flew backwards, her legs gliding into easy crossovers that made cool air whip against her cheeks as she picked up speed. She was well aware of the other skaters watching her, of her new Coach evaluating her every move, but she didn’t pay much mind. She never had. When she was on the ice, everything fell away. It was only her.

Diana lifted her arms out beside her and let herself glide for a moment before leaping into a single toe-loop, landing effortlessly on her good leg. At all times she avoided landing on her left—she would say it was because she was uncertain of its strength, but fear was certainly a factor—and instead opted for her right. She knew she could land the right.

She three-turned, settling onto the middle of her blades, one foot pushed forward as she let herself coast. At the other end of the arena, Hannah was spinning into a twizzle. It was sloppy, but not dreadfully so, and as she came out of the turn she leapt into a double axel. She was clearly in her own world, though Barbara wanted to be part of it nonetheless as she stood at the side and cheered her on.

Diana swiveled, letting her back gently hit the wall, her gloved hands grasping at the edge and holding her, poised, by the other skaters. Gentle puffs of air slid past cold lips, though she was hardly out of breath. Everything she was doing was simple, not only in comparison to the others, but in comparison to what she  _ could _ do.

But she was just not ready.

Frank burst through the open door and onto the ice, flying forward like a hockey skater before looping backwards and straightening his body. He was tall, thin, lanky off the ice but nothing but grace on it, and he flashed a brilliant smile at the side as he tossed his head back, letting blonde hair wave away from his face, and left the ice in a tight triple lutz. His body wobbled only slightly on landing—something that made Diana’s heart skip a beat—before returning to the dance-style skating that seemed to bring him joy.

“That’s enough,” Coach Meridies called from where she was seated on the edge of the rink. “Gather up.”

The six skaters in the advanced program—Diana, Hannah, Barbara, Andrew, Frank, and Lotte—hit the ice and t-stopped gently before their coach. Frank was puffing for air, Hannah was trying to pretend she wasn’t, and Lotte was looking shy, meek, and incredibly short next to Frank’s towering height.

“I’m going to split you off into pairs. You’ll be assigned an hour’s ice time where the two of you can practice and help each other get ready for our first competition in a few weeks. Come up with programs for each other, be honest with feedback.” She paused, running a hand through lavender hair that tousled across her forehead. “And hold each other accountable. I’ll be stretched thin through programs, but I will attend your sessions as often as I can.”

“You’re not going to be here every time?” Barbara asked. The thick black head-warmer did little to hide the shock reaching her eyebrows.

Coach Meridies leveled her with a scrutinizing gaze. “You are seasoned skaters who have competed at some of the highest levels in the sport. I believe at this point you should be fully capable of self-management. Or would you prefer to still have your hand held, Miss Parker?”

Barbara blanched. “Um, no ma’am,” she murmured, fidgeting with her hands as she looked down at the ice and kicked at it with her toe pick.

“Very well, then.” Coach Meridies expression did not change from its seemingly stern resting point as she scanned the faces of her best skaters. “Barbara and Frank.”

Frank turned to Barbara, flashing a gleaming smile. It seemed to lift Barbara’s spirits, who smiled back.

“Hannah and Lotte.”

Hannah had been staring at Diana, clearly hoping to be paired together, and the announcement of her partner made her turn to stare at the smaller girl with a look that held nothing but disgust. Lotte glanced up, then away, any semblance of cheer in her eyes falling fast.

“Andrew and Diana.”

“Gross,” Andrew said.

“Mr. Hanbridge—”

Andrew coughed as an elbow hit him right under the ribcage. He chuckled, throwing an arm around Diana’s shoulders and making her wobble on the ice. “Kidding, Coach. I’ll try to teach her a thing or two.”

“I’ll e-mail your times once I get everything worked out with the rink schedule. If you need to swap with each other, please let me know beforehand so I can make adjustments to my own availability.”

The six nodded. The Zamboni’s engine rumbled to life in its home at the other end of the arena.

“Alright. Hockey hooligan time,” Coach Meridies said with a twitch of a smile and a shake of her head. “Head off.”

“I was hoping Andrew and Frank would be together,” Barbara was whispering to Hannah as they made their way off the ice, glancing back at the two taller guys. “That would be  _ so _ cute.”

Diana snorted. She glanced up to Andrew, letting a smile grow. “Still haven’t told them you’re not actually gay?”

Andrew laughed. “It’s kind of nice to not be hit on every second of the day. Besides, Frank wasn’t going to speak up about blatant homophobia, so I figured I’d get my bro’s back.” He shrugged. “So, until then, I guess we’re gay besties, eh?”

“Miss Cavendish. A moment?”

“See you, Diana,” Andrew finished, glancing back at Coach Meridies before following the others off the ice.

Coach Meridies beckoned Diana forward. She glanced to where Sucy was getting ready to drive the Zamboni onto the ice and held up a hand. With a sneer that could have cut a hole in the atmosphere, Sucy turned the machine off and kicked her legs up onto the wheel, feigning a nap.

“How are you feeling?”

Croix Meridies was not a stranger to Diana. She had been a coach to a number of peers, even serving as the assistant coach for the Canadian team long after her own, single-term participation in the Olympics for Italy. She was known for her no-nonsense attitude, for her strict coaching style, for her bluntness when it came to who could and who could not make it in the higher competitions.

But here she was, standing before Diana, regarding her with a warmth and fondness that she hadn’t seen since her mother passed.

“I feel okay,” she lied.

Coach Meridies’s eyes coasted over Diana’s body. Over how her left leg cocked up on the toe when she stood still, over the way she didn’t quite hold her body the way she used to.

“Could I see you do a double axel?” she asked, not unkindly. She motioned to the rink of open ice before them.

Diana glanced around. Everybody was gone. It was just her, Coach Meridies, and Sucy, who wasn’t paying the least bit of attention and instead throwing a silent tantrum that only she was privy to.

With a gentle nod, Diana pushed off. She skated in a twenty meter circle, slow and thoughtful, before picking up the speed that would be needed to carry her through the turns. She readied her arms, lifted one foot to jump—

She looked down at the red line of the face-off circle, and saw blood on the ice.

Diana faltered. Straightened.

With a deep inhale and a harsh blink, she stopped. Coach Meridies skated slowly forward, pity sliding across her face. It angered Diana. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want somebody to feel sorry for her because of what she had done and because she was not brave enough to pick herself back up. She didn’t want kind words, empty wishes.

All she wanted was somebody to clean the blood off the ice.

But she knew it had to be her.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Bright eyes met her own.

“I had a feeling,” she said with a tense smile. “Don’t be afraid of taking your time, Miss Cavendish. Sometimes it can be our worst enemy, but sometimes—” She gestured down at Diana’s leg, at the ice, at the length of the arena that suddenly seemed so large, so grossly grandiose that it made Diana’s stomach turn. “Time is exactly what we need.”

* * *

The couch was genuinely uncomfortable.

Angel was not helping in that matter.

Diana turned onto her back, kicking her legs out over the opposite armrest and thumbing over to a new page of her medical text as she read on. It was dull reading—neuroanatomy, specifically connectomics—and she felt her eyes glazing over the dense network of neuromapping that made little sense to a tired brain.

Still, she had to ensure her studies were far beyond what the syllabus required of her. A year of distance learning in England had done nothing but make her insecure about on-site expectations, and she was damned if she would let herself fall anywhere close to behind.

Akko’s bedroom door opened. Angel leapt up from where she was sleeping comfortably on Diana’s abdomen, making Diana groan and twist away from claws that dug into skin as she leapt off.

“Good morning, Angel!” Akko chirped, bending down to run a hand over her chirping cat’s back.

“Good—”

Diana froze, stopping herself instantly. She scooted up a little straighter on the couch, lowering the text to her lap, and let her eyes fall on Akko, and all she could see was that cheerful smile greeting her at the end of her drive—

_ “Good morning, Angel!” _

“Oh. Hey Diana,” Akko said, straightening up to see Diana on the couch. “You’re up early.”

“It’s technically half one in Leeds,” Diana said back, lowering her eyes back to her text and ignoring the swelling in her throat. “It’s only early here.”

“Okay. Whatever,” Akko grunted. She slid her way to the kitchen in mis-matched socks and Diana couldn’t help but let her eyes trail upwards once more as she watched. Akko’s brunette hair was messy, tangled in the back and scattered over the front of her clavicle. She was wearing an old Shiny Chariot concert shirt that was torn in more places than one and those red shorts that led into smooth, muscular legs.

Angel jumped up onto the counter. Akko did not push her off. Diana said nothing.

“Who put the cereal up this high,” Akko grumbled, half climbing onto the counter to get to the box of Fruity Pebbles that she  _ herself _ had put there only a few days prior.

For a moment, Diana considered getting up to help, but decided that it was much more entertaining watching Akko instead. Her roommate glanced back and Diana quickly looked away as though she had been reading the entire time.

Akko grunted, mumbling something unintelligible as she jumped gracelessly down, cereal firmly in her grasp, and proceeded to make the  _ most  _ noise possible getting herself a bowl.

“Want some?” Akko asked, her mouth already full of a spoonful as she stared at Diana from across their shared space.

“I’ll pass,” Diana said, turning to the next page of her book. “Thank you, though.”

“Suit yourself,” Akko replied, stumbling over in still partially-asleep fashion only to flop down on the other end of the couch—and the top of Diana’s feet—while also sloshing milk out of the side of the bowl. She seemed completely unaware of all of it, sinking into the horrible furniture and kicking her bare feet up onto the coffee table.

Diana pulled her feet back, watching as Akko stared straight ahead while shoveling spoonful after spoonful of cereal into her mouth. She was like a zombie, a loud one who kept banging the spoon against the bowl and making weird grunting noises while she chewed, and the last of Diana’s concentration left her body as she shut her text and gently set it on the coffee table.

It seemed to wake Akko from her stupor. She looked over, narrowing her eyes at the book. “Gray’s Anatomy?” she murmured, the words rolling over her tongue and her mind as she pushed another spoonful of cereal into her chin before making it to her mouth. “Huh.” She grunted, chewing thoughtfully. “The show’s better.”

Diana blinked.

“You’re not possibly serious?”

“Oh, I am quite possibly serious,” Akko said back in a mocking British accent.

“Nice try,” Diana said, running a hand through her hair and folding one leg over the other. “Too Cockney.”

Akko turned to look at her, milk dribbling down her chin before swiping it away and analyzing Diana as though she was some kind of sideshow freak. “Are you faking it?”

“Pardon?”

“Your accent,” Akko said, spoon rattling against the bowl as she placed it down on the coffee table. “You weren’t British  _ before _ .”

“I was born in England.”

“Yeah, but you’re  _ Canadian. _ ”

“I—” Diana paused, unable to cover a scoff at the sheer idiocracy of the conversation. “I have dual citizenship, Akko,” she explained, even though she didn’t know why she needed to. “My mother moved here to set up the North American division of our medical company.”

“Well I knew  _ that _ ,” Akko mumbled, turning to lean against the armrest and curl in on herself. Being so close to Akko instantly made Diana uncomfortable and she tightened herself up as much as she could, glancing to her bedroom door and wondering when a good exit would be available. “But if you’d had this accent before I don’t think I—”

Diana blinked back. Narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think you would have what?”

“Nothing,” Akko rushed out. She lowered her eyes, finding Diana’s leg and holding.

On instinct, Diana grabbed her blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her legs. From Akko’s bedroom came the tell-tale sound of Angel sifting through her litter box. Any moment she would be rushing out as though offended by her own smell.

“It’s not that noticeable,” Diana murmured. “If you visit England, you’ll realize it’s not quite so thick. It’s just from being—”

“Wait.” Akko’s fingers found the edge of the blanket and tugged it up over Diana’s knees as she leaned in, ignoring every word that was coming out of her mouth and instead scrutinizing her with the curiosity of a child. She reached out for a moment, as though to touch her skin, and Diana shivered away.

“Is this where, uh—”

Diana looked down at her own leg. At the scar that ran, deep and ugly, from ankle to knee along the side of her calf. It made part of her leg look deformed, caved in where scalpel had met muscle, and she swallowed hard before saying, simply, “I broke it.”

“Well, duh.” Akko deadpanned. She cocked her head to the side, gaze running from the top of the scar to the very bottom. “I didn’t know you hurt it this bad.” She drew air before hurriedly saying, “Lotte told me you got hurt before the Olympics. Um, congratulations, by the way.”

“Had a hairline fracture I didn’t know about,” Diana replied, specifically ignoring her sentiments. “Should be obvious that small breaks lead to big breaks, shouldn’t it?”

Akko grew quiet. She lifted her eyes. Met Diana’s. Pulled away. “Yeah,” she muttered, almost under her breath. “Should be.”

The silence was awkward. It was even more uncomfortable being held under Akko’s gaze. Scrutinized. Judged. She wanted to throw the blanket back over her legs and ignore the whole thing.

After the first surgery, Diana had woken asking for Akko. Her best friend had held her through the pain, through the agonizing amount of time it took to cut her open and sew her back together, but when she opened her eyes… well, Akko wasn’t there anymore.

It had always gone that way.

But here she was, in real life,  _ staring _ at her.

“Ugly, isn’t it?” Diana asked, forcing a chuckle even though she didn’t find it funny.

“Kind of,” Akko said. She pulled her eyes away from Diana’s leg to meet her gaze once more, smirking in a way that made Diana tense her jaw and look away. “Can I, uh—”

A finger fell against scar tissue, gentle and tentative.

“I-I suppose,” Diana replied, swallowing hard as she watched Akko study her. Her finger trailed down the length of the scar, the backs of her knuckles feeling the ridge that had grown where she was cut apart.

“Does it hurt?” Akko asked, looking up. Her fingers continued to move. Stroking, curious but tender, idle in a touch that made Diana stir with longing.

After all, no one had ever touched her scar, save for herself or her doctors.

Akko was the first to  _ want  _ to.

“Yes,” Diana replied. Akko pulled her hand away but Diana quickly corrected with, “No, not you. Just… the leg. Sometimes. A lot.”

“Oh.” Akko returned her hand to Diana’s leg. Staring, analyzing, concern twitching through her eyebrows. Her hand lingered around the meat of Diana’s calf, still and unmoving, her thumb gently stroking against skin and scar and bits of bone held together by screws and plates and rods. “Well, I guess it’s good that most things can be fixed, eh?” she said after a moment, meeting Diana’s stare with a nervous smile.

Diana’s eyes moved from Akko’s hopeful red eyes, to the cute smile that dimpled a single cheek, to the hand that held the ugliest part of her. She could feel her brain twisting and turning, struggling to connect everything that had happened and was happening, mapping a course of lost neurons that always seemed to meet in the same place:

Akko.

She opened her mouth to reply, to say exactly  _ anything _ , but Angel chose that exact moment to come streaking from Akko’s room, litter flying behind her, and break a moment that Diana would have let go on forever.


	8. Guilt, Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: spicy

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

GUILT, PT. 1

* * *

_ AKKO _

* * *

_ AO: wake up bitches!!!! its game night _

_ WI: it’s 7 in the morn you cunt, go back to sleep _

_ AO: i have an 8 am _

_ SM: well not all of us do. why am I on this team chat? i asked you to take me off, o’neill. _

_ AO: because the zamboni driver is the most important teammate of all! _

_ JA: Why am I being woken up with this? _

_ CA: … _

Akko reached under her pillow, flicked open her phone, and stared blearily at the messages swarming into her phone before promptly throwing it across her room. It thudded against her wall and fell next to the litter box, where Angel immediately went to inspect.

She rolled over, staring blankly at the ceiling and the slivers of sunlight that broke through her blinds to carve hard lines above her. She could hear Diana getting ready in her own bedroom, probably long awake, and with a dramatic sigh heaved her many blankets off her body and went to retrieve her phone.

_ AK: >< it’s too early amanda _

_ AO: its never too early to be high on a future win _

_ WI: yes it is. the cut off for too early is 10 am. _

_ AO: says you _

_ JA: I am going to block this whole message chain. _

She could hear the water turn on in the other room, could hear the shower door slide open. A shower did sound good—it would wake her up as much as she possibly  _ could  _ be awake as early as it was—and so she stumbled into her own bathroom, only running into the door frame twice before tossing her phone into the sink.

Yeah, it was game night, and she  _ was _ excited, but Akko was most certainly not a morning person. She clambered into the shower, blinking into the warm water that rained down on her, and stared at the wall.

And all she could think about was Diana.

She closed her eyes as she pressed her hands into the wall, let the water soak into her hair, run over her body.

_ “I’ve got you,” she had said as she thread her fingers through Diana’s tangled mess of blonde hair and held her close, so close, that she thought for a moment they would meld together. _

Akko took a sharp breath, let the memory wash over her with the water.

_ Diana staring back up at her, her eyes wide, her pupils blown, her lips framing silent words that did not come to life. Fingernails were digging into Akko’s back but she didn’t complain, she  _ couldn’t  _ complain, because she had wanted this for so long and there it was, at the worst of times and in the worst of circumstances. It was wrong, so wrong, and both of them knew they needed to stop, but neither did. _

She clenched her jaw. Her fist. Straightened up and tilted her chin toward the stream, toward the water, and let it hit her directly in the face to try to get the images out of her mind, out of her head. She tried to conjure thoughts of Avery, of the escape that she’d held onto for so long, but it slipped from her grasp and instead she turned, let her back hit the shower wall, and slid a hand framed by rivulets of water down her toned stomach.

_ “Akko,” Diana was begging. Tears were in her eyes, hovering at the corners. A fragile balance of love and loss. “Please.” _

It had not been right. It had not been the time. With grief came agony, and with agony came the desperate urge to escape by any means possible. For Diana, Akko had been that escape. She knew that, and she had let it happen. No, she had  _ helped _ it happen.

Her lips parted on instinct, warm water dribbling over her upper lip and into her mouth. She arched her back into her fingers, no longer trying to stop something that she had never been able to stop in the first place, and let the thoughts flood in.

Thoughts of Diana, only a room away, naked and gorgeous and oh God what if she was thinking the same thing, doing the same thing?

No, Diana was too poised. Too controlled.

But what if—what if she was?

Akko pictured Diana’s head tilted backwards, imagined the moans sliding from her lips as her gold hair framed her face, falling over breasts that Akko longed to cover with her mouth. She imagined Diana’s fingers moving just like hers, slowly circling, slowly teasing, letting her hips buck with each stroke of her most sensitive point.

What if Diana still thought of Akko the way she thought of her?

_ Diana was pale. Gaunt. Dark half-moons made her eyes look periwinkle and Akko let herself devour the look of need and the girl herself, let herself come undone in a way that she had never dreamed she would. Diana’s breath was coming in heavy gasps, quiet moans slipping from her mouth each time she was pushed back into the pillow. She held onto Akko like she was her lifeline and Akko  _ was  _ her lifeline, had always wanted to be and always would be, and she wanted Diana to know that. She didn’t know what she was doing but it felt right and she was gentle, she was careful, she was an anchor. _

She wondered if Diana would send her away if she climbed into that shower with her. If she pressed her to the wall, if she drank deep the years long gone and made up for them right then, right there, with her mouth and her hands and her fingers and every part of her.

_ Diana’s whole body tensed under her. Her fingers dug deep into Akko’s back, her mouth opened in a silent cry, a gasp, before, _

_ “I’m—” _

_ Her chest was swimming with emotion as she pushed deep, as she filled Diana with herself and watched a face that had been twisted in agony for so many days fade into  _ relief _ , into something else that wasn’t pain, that wasn’t grief. _

_ And as her back arched, as her eyes closed and her head tilted back, the tears at the corners of her eyes finally fell, streaking down her temples, until everything—the moment, the girl, the act itself—caved in on itself, swallowed by the heavy weight of the world closing in around them. _

Akko shuddered. Her toes curled, her knees buckling in an attempt to hold herself up as a long sigh slipped through her lips as she came. She held herself for a moment, barely standing against the wall, her finger pressed tight against her still throbbing body as the water fell down, cooler now than only moments before, in a vain attempt to wash away the guilt that devoured her like it did every time.

She straightened. Stumbled through washing herself before the water became too cold to bear, through drying a body that sprouted goosebumps as soon as she stepped out. She stood at the sink but didn’t bother to wipe the fog from the mirror.

She didn’t want to see herself.

Not then.

Her phone was still blinking in the sink. She picked it up. Dozens of new messages from her team, but one new one:

_ DC: Making a cup of tea, would you like me to start you some coffee for class? _

Akko sniffed. She swiped at the corner of her mouth with her damp towel, ignoring the quiver of anxiety in her body as she typed back:

_ AK: no thanks _

* * *

Her essay didn’t have a grade.

Akko gaped down at the paper that had nothing more than what she’d typed. 1,000 words of analysis of Lorde’s Green Light with absolutely  _ nothing _ written on it. Not feedback, not marks, not a grade. Not even a ‘Come see me after class’.

“85. Whatever,” Avery said, slapping her own essay into the single folder she used for all her classes and rising. “Headed off to the commons. Want to join?”

“Uh, no,” Akko said, turning the paper over a few things. Did Cally use invisible ink? Was this a trick? She squinted, checking between the lines and finding absolutely nothing. “Got stuff to do. But, uh—” She glanced up, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes at the girl who was waiting for her. “See you at the game tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Avery replied, hand finding Akko’s to slide a heavily folded piece of paper into her palm, their touch lingering far too long for Akko’s comfort before falling apart. “See ya, cutie.”

Akko waited, her grip white-knuckling the leather strap of her satchel as she waited for the rest of the class to slowly filter out. Some stopped to talk to Professor Callistis, others lingered a moment to chat with one another. She shuffled nervously next to her desk, kicking lamely at one untied shoelace while she waited.

Finally, there was no one.

No one, save for herself, bright red in her embarrassment to even approach a professor, much less  _ question _ one, and the dark-haired woman who hopped up on her desk and kicked her legs out before her, swinging them like a child at a playground as she peered at Akko through thin-rimmed glasses.

“Bit old for passing notes, aren’t you, Akko?”

Akko quickly shoved the paper into the front pocket of her jeans. Her clammy fingers pressed into her unmarked essay as she raised her eyes to meet her professor’s, hesitating before stepping forward and, of course, tripping over the laces she was just playing with. She caught herself on the next desk, her ears burning a furious red as she self-consciously scratched the back of her neck and chuckled. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Just now learning to walk.”

“You should either try that barefoot or learn to tie your laces,” Cally replied, nodding to Akko’s torn, well-past-expiration-date converse. She lifted her lips in a warm smile, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as she regarded Akko in a way that felt more like a peer than a student. “Guessing you want to talk about that essay, eh?”

“Uh.” Akko glanced down at the paper, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Yeah. You didn’t give me a mark.”

“I read it. I gave you a grade.”

Akko turned the essay in her hand. “I think you forgot to write it down,” she offered uselessly, offering the paper forward.

“If I had written something down, then would you be standing here right now?” Professor Callistis asked. She reached behind her to grab a notebook, adjusting her classes as she flipped through a couple of pages. “Kagari. 100.”

“Oh,” Akko murmured, eyes moving from her hand, to the essay, to the gradebook in her professor’s hand, before breaking into a grin. “Oh!”

“But here’s the thing.”

Professor Callistis tossed her gradebook down, reaching for the already wrinkled essay to take into her hands. She peered through her lenses at the paper, quiet for a moment as she took a long breath and smiled. “Pretty words. Basic concept. Met the criteria.” She shrugged, letting her hand and the paper fall to a slightly bouncing thigh. “I could’ve gotten everything here off Google.”

“I didn’t—”

She raised her other hand, smiling. “Didn’t say you Googled it. Just saying that everything you have here isn’t anything I could’ve gotten off the first page of a search.”

“I don’t understand,” Akko said. Her eyebrows wrinkled in frustration as she glanced between her essay and her professor. The woman had just told her she got a perfect mark, but there she was spouting off backhanded compliments and vague hints at plagiarism.

Professor Callistis offered the essay back. Akko took it, her fingers denting the paper as she let it fall to her side, her eyes never leaving the woman who was  _ still _ smiling back at her in a way that made her think that she was in some kind of prank video.

“Saw you at the Lab a couple of weekends ago,” she said after a moment, removing her glasses and tossing them down atop her gradebook. Her eyes were pretty—a bright, brilliant crimson—but Akko’s gaze settled on the dent the glasses had left on the bridge of her nose and held. “Why are you in music theory? What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to be a band manager,” Akko said quickly. Her eyes trailed down, found Cally kicking feet clad in nothing but socks slowly back and forth.

Professor Callistis nodded. “Was hoping that much. No offense, your voice isn’t bad, and you can play a guitar, but nothing that would get you very far in the music industry.” She chuckled. Akko did not. In fact, she was getting rather irritated with the insults that kept following compliments and the vague, strange conversation with a woman who seemed to be actively avoiding  _ the point. _

“I-I’m sorry,” Akko said, struggling to find the most polite words for  _ ‘Could you please cut your bullshit and get to the point?’  _ “I’m not very good with riddles, and this kind of seems like a riddle, but a really stupid one.”

Kuso. Not polite. She pursed her lips and looked away.

Cally just laughed.

“Akko, you know how to find emotion in music and make it your own. Make it raw. You’re a leader. You’re unapologetic for who you are and make decisions based on  _ exactly  _ that.” Professor Callistis smiled, linking her hands together and leaning forward. “And don’t ask me how I know all that. I’ve been in this industry long enough to get a read on people. On people who want to see you fail, people who don’t care if you fail, and people who won’t let it happen under any circumstances.” Her smile faded. “I had a career.” She chuckled. “Once, anyway. My band manager was the second on that list.”

Akko’s eyes widened. “You were—”

“Nobody important.” The professor shrugged, separating her hands and wiping her palms against her slacks. “But, let me get to the point. You’re not the type for pretty words and meets-the-standards.” She pointed to the essay, crinkled against Akko’s leg, and met her gaze. “You have more to offer than what’s expected of you. I watched you play a song for somebody who you said didn’t care anymore as though they were the only person in front of you. I saw more emotion and dedication from a girl who could barely hit notes than most of the major players in this industry. You didn’t want to fail somebody who left a long time ago.” She nodded sagely, kicking her legs out and hopping off the table. “And that’s the kind of person we need in music. You’re the type of magic we look for.”

Akko’s heart was beating hard, thrumming against the wrist that was growing numb across her chest from holding her bag. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, until one word settled in her mind and stayed.

Magic.

She looked up. Met the ruby eyes smiling into her own.

“Were you—”

A dismissive hand stopped her. “Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready for, Akko.” She turned, shoving a bunch of papers into a messy pile on her desk and grabbing her glasses to shove back over her nose. Her voice tilted from peer to mentor as she turned, straightened, and said, “You have a singer with talent but no confidence with a following and a record label who expects a genre she doesn’t want to pursue. Give me an essay on what you would do, as her manager, to make things work.”

Akko blinked. She was not expecting the conversation to turn into additional work. “Uh, okay,” she murmured, digging her toe into the floor. “When do you want it by?”

Professor Callistis shrugged. “Whenever you figure it out.”

More riddles. Akko rolled her eyes. She re-adjusted her satchel, folding her unmarked essay to shove into the pocket with the note from Avery, and turned to leave—until one final question left her mouth before she could stop it.

“Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?”

“I told you,” Professor Callistis said, her voice quiet over the opening and closing of drawers. “Go barefoot or learn to tie your laces. That way you don’t trip in front of important people.”

Akko turned. Cocked her head. “You never learned to tie your laces?”

The professor looked up, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and smirked. “I trust my nature more than something that can come undone.”

Akko looked down at her laces, dark and torn from being stepped on and dragged over concrete and dirt, and furrowed her brows.

“I’m kidding, Akko,” Professor Callistis said with a sigh. “Wearing heels sucks. I chuck them under my desk after class. But it did sound wise, didn’t it?”

Akko rolled her eyes, turned, and promptly tripped on her stupid laces again.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” Cally called out after her.

* * *

Akko flew around the back of Western’s goal line, her gaze finding her teammates in the chaos in front of the keeper. Amanda was there. So was Wangari. Constanze had zipped up to center and was dancing with the Western offense, skating in circles that carried them across the ice and away from where she knew Akko wanted the puck to go. Mary hung back, ready and waiting in case Western turned the tide to threaten Jasminka.

There were few openings. The best chance she had was to get the puck to Wangari, who she knew was agile enough to either complete the pass or make enough room so that Amanda could. She drew her stick back, ready to make the pass—

And was immediately checked into the wall by a defensive player much larger than herself.

She scrambled free, watching as the puck ricocheted off the wall and spun towards Constanze, who bolted in between two Western players to collect and in one, swift motion, reeled back and sent a long slapshot flying through the scrambling group of skaters and into the high corner of the net.

The light behind the goal lit in spiraling red and Akko lifted a gloved fist in a cheer, waving her stick as she sped towards the smaller girl who was already being pounced by her other teammates. The Western keeper socked the metal edge of the net, lifting a face shield to spray water into her mouth with a frustrated grunt.

They were up 4-3, the cap to Constanze’s hat trick putting them just ahead with only a few minutes left on the clock. Nobody expected Constanze to carry the team as much as she did—not even her own teammates, when they first met her—but the small, silent girl had speed and concentration like nobody else and could get out of the tightest situations with ease. Every move she made was calculated to precision, and when she wanted to score… well, she scored.

Wangari had scored the only other goal, a shovel around the net and between the keeper’s legs, during a power play when a Western player was benched for slashing. It was messy, not at all the stylistic grace that Wangari usually portrayed, but it had gotten the job done.

And they were ahead.

“Defensive switch,” Coach Nelson called. Constanze and Mary streaked off the ice as the players lined back up for the face-off, sending Katya and Aisha leaping over the side to speed skate back to where Jasminka hovered, waiting for the next punishing blow that would certainly be dealt by the countering team.

Akko skated slowly to the center, spraying ice deliberately at the team’s other Captain as she settled to wait. The girl was taller, broader, but not faster—she hadn’t beaten Akko in a single face-off yet—and Akko knew that would win the puck again.

Her eyes trailed up to the stands, waiting for the whistle that would carry them into the final portion of the game. The stands were not packed—women’s hockey was not the most popular sport at Luna Nova, though interesting enough to draw a worthwhile crowd—and it was easy to find Avery with her roommate toward the top. Avery lifted a gloved hand in a warm wave, a broad grin lighting her face when she noticed Akko look up.

Akko’s gaze could have stopped there. Should have stopped there. But a flash of platinum blonde caught her attention and she looked beyond Avery, finding the long, curly hair that fell from a knitted grey hat to the familiar figure shrugged snugly into her navy rider jacket. Diana was not looking at her. Instead, she was talking to her guy friend, whose cheeks dimpled in warm laughter at whatever she had said.

The whistle that blew was distant, a barely-there background noise that pulled her back to the task at hand a moment too late. The ref had dropped the puck and the Western Captain had slapped it away before Akko even had the chance to look, to move, and in the flash of a moment the puck was at the end of the opposing team’s stick, skating towards Jasminka with the rest of her team swiveling backwards on the defense.

There was no time to scold herself. That could come later. She whirled, honing in on not the puck but the player who carried it, and flew forward with reckless abandon.

Just as she was about to connect, about to check the other player into the wall, a shoulder met her right. Another met her left. In an instant she was thrown forward between the weight of two players, her stick slipping from her glove and skimming across the ice as she went down. Her jaw hit the scarred surface of the rink, bounced up, and she felt her teeth bite down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She paid it no mind.

Akko clambered back to her blades, rushing forward to gather her stick from where it had come to rest against the outer wall, and turned just in time to see the Western Captain send a wrist shot flying at Jasminka.

Jasminka was swiveling backwards on her own blades, knees cocked together and ready to go down if the shot was low, go up if it was high. But she barely had to move. Her eyes followed the player, followed the stick, followed the shot—and her glove expertly closed around the puck, pulling it tight to her body as a rush of players bombarded her.

“Offense, switch!”

Akko did not want to get off the ice. She wanted to close the game out. Wanted to find an opportunity to get the other Captain back.

But it was a game. That was all. Getting her back would be nothing more than sport, not spite, and there would be plenty more opportunities to play Western and rough-house. That was the nature of hockey, and that was why she loved it.

She took her time skating off, watching as the second offensive line leapt over the wall and took their places.

“You’re bleeding, Kagari,” Nelson said, pointing to her face. “Get something for that.”

But Sucy was already there with a fresh hand towel, yanking Akko’s face shield up to press it against her bottom lip. Akko glanced down, noticing the droplets that were barely visible against the purple of her jersey. She took the towel from Sucy, grunting an unintelligible thanks as she pulled it away, licked at the fresh blood that was trickling from her split lip, and leaned against the wall to watch the rest of the game.

“C’mon, Katya!” Amanda shouted as Katya broke away from the center line, effortlessly outskating Western’s spread apart defense.

A shot.

A miss, mere inches to the side of the post.

The puck hit the wall, bounced forward. Two players went for it, skating hard, skating fast, but the buzzer rang out loud and relentlessly to end a play before possession was even settled.

A tough game. Not a pretty one, by any means.

But they had won.

Akko leapt over the wall, temporarily disregarding the towel to her left hand as she skated towards the other team, clapping gloves and shoulders and exchanging smiles and nods.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the Western Captain said, tilting her chin at the blood dribbling down Akko’s chin and cocking a friendly smile. A dark blonde braid dangled over her shoulder, over a white and purple jersey with a framed silver C that glared back at Akko “If you don’t have a girl to kiss that better, I’ll take you out after this.”

Akko flushed. “I, uh.” She looked to the stands. Avery was there, standing, probably waiting. Diana was gone. “Got one,” she lied, smiling back in a way that she hoped covered her fib.

Luckily for her, an arm closed around her shoulder and Amanda pulled her away, grinning in her ear.

“First win of the season, eh Cap?” she said, slugging Akko on the shoulder and hoisting her stick over her shoulder. “I’d like to say it was all thanks to you, but that little twerp did all the work.” She nodded at Constanze, who pulled off her helmet and smirked, shrugged.

“Cocky little shit,” Amanda mumbled, letting go of Akko’s shoulder. “Want to hit Lab or something after this? Last Wednesday? Grab a drink?”

“That’s alright,” Akko replied. She pressed the towel to her lip, looking at the bright red blood that came away. She could already feel her lip swelling. “Promised Avery we would meet up. Plus I’ve got a quiz in my 8 a.m. and can’t risk missing it.”

“Gotcha.” Amanda turned her gaze to find Avery, who was clambering down through the stands. “The hell’s going on with you two, anyway? She’s always making googly eyes at you and you look like you’d rather shove your dick in a dead turtle’s shell.”

Akko’s eyebrows wrinkled with disgust as she turned to Amanda. Sweat was dripping down the other girl’s face, making her wild red hair cling to her temples and the sides of her cheeks. “First, that’s gross. I like turtles. Second, nothing’s going on. She’s my best friend.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Best friend’s don’t fuck each other unless something’s going on, but—”

Whatever she was about to say trailed off as Sucy and Lotte leaned against the nearest wall, Sucy blinking and pointing at the Zamboni garage while mouthing, “ _ Get the fuck off the ice,”  _ and Lotte lifting a hand kept warm with a red mitten in a timid wave.

“You did great, Amanda,” she called out. Her cheeks were pink from the cold of the arena. “You too, Akko!”

“Thanks,” Akko replied, grateful to be free of Amanda’s prodding. She licked her lip and then pressed the towel back up against it, even though the blood was slowing, just to have something to do with her hands and an excuse to shield part of her face.

She turned away. Found the warm smile that greeted her. The dark hair that fell, straight and limp, from a purple beanie—carefully picked to match Luna Nova’s colors—and the equally dark eyes that seemed to light up when Akko looked her way.

Akko did not have to wonder how Avery felt about her. She had seen that look before. Kuso, she had  _ given _ that look before. The other girl held back only because Akko asked her to, only because Akko made it clear what her intentions were, only because the boundaries drawn between them were held tight by Akko’s hand and Akko’s hand alone.

But she knew how Avery felt.

But Akko?

* * *

Akko was just using Avery.

That’s all it came down to.

That’s all it was.

For a while she had thought about trying. Trying to get past the one girl she was hung up on. The girl who was thousands of miles away. Who hadn’t written, hadn’t called.

Who had all but forgotten.

What use was it to wait for something that had disappeared? What good was there in waiting, in hoping, in dreaming that the one thing that she had thought was real had, without warning, become nothing more than fantasy?

And she was about to try. She really was. She was about to let down her walls, to give Avery or some other girl a chance, but then she had opened the door to that dorm room to find the one girl she had waited for, the one girl she had all but given up on, standing before her—taller, prettier, and different, but still the same in so many painful ways.

And so, brick by brick, she built those walls back up.

“Snowing outside,” Avery said as she stood and peeked through the blinds, watching as thick flurries fell from the dark sky to settle on the university grounds below. “Think we’ll have class tomorrow?”

“Get the huskies ready,” Akko joked, polishing off the rest of her Molson and curling up on the couch. It felt good to be showered and warm in her pajamas, curled up under a blanket with a cold beer and her friend to keep her company. Her lip throbbed, but it wasn’t bad. Split, bruised a little, but not the worst thing that could have come out of a hockey game.

“‘Nother?” Avery asked, nodding to Akko’s empty beer.

“You don’t have to. I can.”

“Already up,” Avery replied, pausing to coo at Angel and pet her before collecting two more beers from the fridge. “Hey, did you look at that note I gave you?”

“Oh. I forgot.” Akko frowned, scrambling to her feet as she padded into her room to find her discarded pair of jeans on the floor. She dug into the front pocket, fishing out the folded paper that Avery had given her earlier in the day. “Cally joked on me for it and I kinda just put it away. Sorry.”

“No worries.”

Avery was settled back on the couch, legs tucked up, the blanket draped over her lap. She was shivering a little bit—the draft coming through the window was adding a chill to the room—and Akko slid under the blanket with her, curling in close as she leaned the offered beer against her leg and began delicately unfolding the note. She could feel Avery’s arm snaking around her shoulders, warm breath a calm wave against her neck as Avery leaned in.

“You played really well tonight,” she said, giving Akko’s bicep a squeeze and leaning a head against her shoulder. “Cons was kicking ass out there. She’s insane.”

Akko smirked. “They never expect the little ones,” she said, smoothing out the final crease of the note.

There was nothing written. Only a drawing.

Avery was a good artist. She’d been drawing her entire life. Nothing serious—she’d never had any ambition to make it anything more than a hobby—but she  _ could  _ have.

It was a sketch of Akko, standing on the counter of her old dorm, Angel held in outstretched arms in a mimic of the Lion King. It was done in pen, but tidy, complete with shading and expression and all Akko could do was hold it, was stare down at something that Avery had taken the time to bring to life, even without color.

She could feel her lips turning in a smile as she held it out before her, admiring something so simple, but something that meant so much nonetheless.

“Last year,” Avery said, nodding to the drawing. “I could do a digital, if you like. I just… I think about that moment all the time, you know? I wish I’d had my phone out to get a picture. You were so happy and laughing so hard even though it was at Angel’s expense. I just… I knew then that—”

“Avery.” Akko glanced up, met the dark eyes that were shimmering, at the lips that twitched with uncertainty as Avery stared back. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“I have to. Please,” Avery forced out, quieting Akko. “I have to tell you that I knew that I loved you then.”

Akko swallowed. She looked down at the drawing, at the lines folded across the carefully sketched ink, over the image that probably did not have crease marks in Avery’s mind. Her hands were shaking. When had her hands started shaking?

She looked to the window. Avery had opened the blinds. The flurries fell thick, fell hard, and Akko knew that in the morning the campus would be bathed in a layer of fresh snow.

Cold fingers fell to the back of her neck, a thumb tracing along her jawline. Akko turned back, felt her vision haze as she found Avery smiling back.

“I know you don’t,” Avery said. “Not in the way that I do. And that’s okay.”

“How is that okay?”

Her voice was a hoarse whisper. A lump rose to her throat as she studied Avery’s face. The kind smile, the warm eyes, the acceptance that was somehow still there after everything.

“I tried,” Akko choked out. “I still try. I just—I need time, Ave. I need—”

“You shouldn’t have to try to love somebody,” Avery said. “And that’s okay. I get it. You’re here and I can love you until I find somebody who loves me back.” Her lips twitched, her thumb falling to the corner of Akko’s lips, gently tickling the soft skin. “The world doesn’t always spin the way we want it. I’ll find my own way. I just hope—” She swallowed. Took Akko’s beer. Set it gently on the coffee table. “I just hope one day you find yours. Even if it’s not me. And I know—” Her hand moved up, ran through Akko’s bangs, still damp from her shower. “I know it won’t be me.”

“If I had a choice,” Akko whispered, her eyes desperately searching Avery, wishing for the feeling in her gut to be anything more than anxiety, “I would let it be you.”

Avery smiled. She pulled Akko in, arms wrapping around her, warming her, and placed a delicate kiss to her forehead. “Sometimes we don’t have a choice. If I did, I wouldn’t love you.” She chuckled. “Except as a friend.”

Akko turned her head, pressed against Avery’s hand and Avery’s warmth and Avery’s kindness. She found her flushed lips, lips that she had kissed a thousand times and felt nothing for every single time. But it was still a kiss, it was still somebody wanting her.

Avery always left the porch light on, even when Akko didn’t deserve it.

“I like kissing you, though,” Akko said, letting the tip of her nose brush against Avery’s, letting her bruised mouth tickle at the other girl’s warm lips.

Avery smirked against Akko’s mouth. Her hand cradled the back of Akko’s head, fingers sliding through soft strands of brunette hair that cascaded like cool water over the shoulders of her ratty Shiny Chariot shirt.

“Then kiss me,” Avery replied. “Because I like you kissing me.”

But Akko was already there, was already meeting her halfway. The drawing fell from her hand, drifting to the coffee table as they crashed together, the cold draft and the blanket falling away with a moment that made heat of its own as two bodies met, writhing and desperate and needy—both for different reasons, but both seeking the same outcome—and fell against the battered couch that was far too small for the two bodies it held at length.

Avery bit at her lip. Akko moaned—in pain, not pleasure—Avery immediately pulled back with a cringe and a, “I’m so sorry—” before Akko pulled her back down, melted into her once more.

Their hands roamed from neck, to shoulder, to waist, to the forgiving elastic of sweatpants, until Avery’s hair was falling around her face as she gasped into Akko’s lips, her hips grinding forward, reaching for the ghost of a touch that lingered, waiting.

Akko’s eyes narrowed as she stared into Avery’s searching eyes.

_ Diana was fragile beneath Akko’s touch. She was grasping for her, struggling to stay grounded in a world that did not seem to want to hold her anymore. But Akko would hold her. Forever, if that’s how long it took. And it would not be a chore. It could never be a chore with Diana, not for the girl who stared back at her with so much desire, with so much passion, and with something else that Akko was struggling to figure out until lips pale and swollen from the salt of tears opened and told her: _

_ “I need you.” _

“Akko,” Avery gasped, and Akko did not make her wait any longer.

She tilted her forward, offered Avery the anchor that she knew she needed, and their lips met in a frenzy—Akko’s distracted but forceful, Avery’s the stop-and-start that was barely more than moans and whimpers—until Avery was pulling away without release but with urgency nonetheless, tremors running through her body as she righted herself, straddling Akko’s waist and frantically diving into Akko’s shorts.

“Avery—”

“Please,” Avery said, leaning into Akko and pressing their foreheads together. A finger ran through Akko, sliding effortlessly through the desire that Akko could not have stopped even if she wanted to. “You never let me. I want to make you feel good, too.”

The pad of a finger brushed against where Akko needed it most and her hips bucked involuntarily. She gasped, hand shooting forward to grab Avery’s wrist, to pull her away, to stop her.

_ Diana was curling in on herself. Sobs waved through her body, an endless torrent of torment, and all Akko could do was cradle her in her arms, was whisper in her ear that it would be okay, it was all okay, it was all— _

It was not okay.

“I can’t,” Akko panted, one hand still gripping Avery’s wrist and the other reaching up to cup her cheek, her neck. “Please, Ave. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Avery nodded. Slowly. Sadly.

Akko rolled, turning Avery with her, pressing the other girl into the couch as she rocked against her and lowered to capture her once more in a kiss, softer this time, gentle, until the whining moans of her friend urged her hand back down, to finish what she started even as her vision hazed, even as her thoughts wavered like static on a broken television, until Avery leaned forward, her body undulating at the edge beneath Akko, who held her there long enough for their lips to meet.

And as Avery gasped into Akko’s mouth, as she held Akko tight and wavered beneath her, Akko closed her eyes, as she always did, because she did not want to see the way Avery looked up at her, did not want to see her loving her, needing her, trusting her.

Akko did not hear the door open. She did not hear it shut, quietly, right after. She focused on the girl coming down from her high, on holding her the way she knew Avery needed, on giving the only bits of herself that she could find in the mess she’d made herself.

Akko dug deep. She scrounged. She held Avery close, she kept her warm and she kept her safe, because Avery loved her. And, because, even though Akko did not love her back, Avery deserved that much.

But the guilt set in anyway, gnawing and feasting and swallowing her whole, and Akko wondered if it would ever go away.

Or if she even deserved for it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! please know that if you comment and I do not reply its because I'm a big introvert and have to work up the social energy to reply to things which has instigated my inbox to be out of control so I'm sorry. (honestly you should see my phone)
> 
> I appreciate all of you. do not feel obligated to comment. I'm putting this world here for you and I to enjoy for a while, so all that matters to me is that you like it.


	9. Made of Glass

**CHAPTER NINE**

MADE OF GLASS

* * *

_ DIANA _

* * *

`“Because,” he said, “I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you—`

`especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere`

`under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string`

`situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous`

`channel, and two hundred miles or so of land some broad between us, I am`

`afraid that cord of communion will snap; and then I’ve a nervous notion`

`I should take to bleeding inwardly.`

`As for you, — you’d forget me.”`

**` CHARLOTTE BRONTE - JANE EYRE` **

_ Diana sat cross-legged on her large blanket beneath the wavering branches of a large oak, her book spread across her lap as she leaned down and read. Her thumb flicked across the top corner of the page as her eyes traveled down, moving across words, drowning in the classic romance that she merely wanted to become lost in. _

_ But Akko—Akko had other plans, as usual. _

_ Her best friend raced up to her, course sand spraying across the blanket as she came to a stop. Her chest heaved from the sprint, but she paid no mind to exhaustion and instead stood, panting, as water dripped down her tall, athletic frame. _

_ “C’mon,” Akko begged, trying to run a hand through long, knotted hair but instead getting her fingers tangled and pulling away with a grimace. “The water’s  _ really _ warm. And all you’re doing is sitting here reading under that big, stupid hat like a hermit. You can read at home!” _

_ Diana lowered her book, peering up at Akko from beneath the brim of the oversized sun hat she’d borrowed from her mother, before glancing down the beach. The lake shore along Cherry Beach was relatively quiet for a summer weekend: a few families picnicked nearby as their children played in the shallows, other groups of teenagers lay sunning themselves with music that played from carefully arranged phones. _

_ She had no doubt the water was warm. It was excruciatingly hot, so much so that the t-shirt barely shielding her from the sun was already sticking to her back and stomach with sweat.  _

_ Akko’s gaze was trailing over her. Over pale legs tucked carefully beneath her body, over the extraordinary measures Diana had taken to not burn her sensitive skin. At the book that she’d placed carefully on the blanket next to her. _

_ “Jane Eyre?” she asked, scratching a damp temple. “Tell me that wasn’t assigned, ‘cause I didn’t tell Okaa-san to check it out.” _

_ “No,” Diana replied. “Just a re-read of one of my favorites.” _

_ “Even better,” Akko said, extending a hand forward. “You’ve read it before. C’mon, the water feels really great.” _

_ “Akko—” _

_ “Please?” Akko met her gaze with pleading eyes, toes curling into sand that slowly absorbed the droplets of water falling from her legs and bathing suit. “Just for a minute. I promise I won’t let anything eat you.” _

_ “It’s not getting eaten I’m worried about,” Diana grumbled, folding her arms over her chest and refusing to take Akko’s hands. “It’s the bacteria. Do you know how filthy that lake is? Especially on this shore? I bet all those kids,” she gestured at the family picnicking nearby, “have peed in the water five times each by now.” _

_ “What’s wrong with that?” Akko’s eyebrows pinched together, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “I’ve peed in it twice.” _

_ “Gross,” Diana muttered. _

_ She reached back for her book, but before her fingers even found the overly abused spine, Akko’s hand shot forward and snagged her hat, dashing backwards in one quick, easy movement. _

_ “Hey!” Diana growled, scrambling to her feet. “That’s my mother’s! It’s expensive and she’ll kill me if I ruin it!” _

_ She did not mention the fact that her mother did not have the strength to get out of bed to discipline her, much less  _ kill _ her. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Akko had her mother’s hat and was sprinting away and— _

_ “Akko!” _

_ Her bare feet dug into the sand as she raced after her friend. She was not as fast as Akko, not as naturally athletic even despite years of skating, and Akko was knee deep in the shallows of Lake Ontario before Diana even met where the waves fell, gentle and lazy, over the small strip of wet sand. _

_ “Please, Akko,” Diana begged, looking down at the water and backing up before it could touch her toes. _

_ Akko backed up, the water rising around tanned thighs, around muscles that flexed with each movement. “Want it? Come get it, princess.” _

_ Diana grit her teeth. This was nothing more than one of Akko’s stupid games and she knew exactly how it was going to play out. Akko would act like she’d do something with the hat but wouldn’t  _ actually _ do it. _

_ Diana wasn’t going to play. _

_ “No,” she said, her voice firm and hard as she lifted her chin in defiance. “I don’t think I will.” _

_ And she turned, whirling on a heel to start stalking back to a blanket that needed to be brushed off and a book that was at one of its better parts. _

_ The sound of splashing sang out behind her. The hat flew by—tossed like a frisbee to land only feet away from the blanket—before two strong, firm arms wrapped around her waist and before she knew it she was lifted from the ground, kicking her legs in protest as Akko dragged her back, back, back— _

_ Until the thrashing finally overcame Akko’s strength and they both tumbled down. _

_ Warm water rose around her. All she could do was squeeze her lips closed as hard as she could as the lake engulfed her, as Akko’s legs brushed against her back, as her entire body submerged into the disgusting, brown, probably overly polluted lake that she had been trying to avoid. _

_ She scrambled to her feet, grabbing Akko’s bony shoulders and shoving the other girl back down as she rose. Her soaked t-shirt poured sheets of water down her bare legs, her platinum hair falling, wet and knotted and gross, around her face. She lowered her head and flipped back, well aware that she smacked a rising Akko right in the face with her hair as she tossed it back out of her face. _

_ “You’re a real jerk, Akko!” she blurted, cringing as water dripped from her nose and onto a bottom lip. _

_ But Akko wasn’t listening. No, Akko was cackling like it was the funniest thing ever. She let herself fall backwards into the water, splashing Diana all over again as she went down, and merely floated on the surface as she stared up. _

_ “Don’t be such a wuss. The water’s fine. It’s nice. You can’t pretend you don’t like it a  _ little _.” _

_ Diana grunted. Folded her arms over her wet shirt. Okay, the water  _ did _ feel nice, but that didn’t excuse Akko’s actions or the fact that she was waist deep in filth. _

_ Akko, meanwhile, looked positively gleeful. A cheerful smile met Diana as she looked down. Water coasted over her toned stomach, glistening beneath a sun that was at its highest point in the sky. Her long brunette hair floated around her face, around eyes that sparkled with joy. _

_ “Just stay for a minute,” Akko said, extending a hand. “Then I’ll come lay on the beach with you and watch you read that boring book you like so much.” _

_ “It’s a good book,” Diana murmured. She eyed the offered hand and hesitantly took it, stepped forward to join Akko in whatever it was she— _

_ Her lips parted and an uncouth shriek left her mouth as she leapt into the air, water sloshing around her and Akko as she scrambled backwards. _

_ “Something touched me! Something touched me!” _

_ “It was probably just a plant!” Akko was laughing, righting herself in the water as she watched Diana fly into a panic over something that was no big deal at all. “Chill out, it’s a lake!” _

_ But Diana wasn’t paying attention. She had already turned, was lifting her legs high as she dashed out of the water with a repeated chant of, “I’m out. I’m out! Nope, nuh-uh, I’m out!” _

_ She was well aware that people were staring at her. Probably laughing just like Akko was as she stalked out of the lake behind her, one hand clutching her gut as she curled in on herself. _

_ “You’re the biggest wuss on the planet,” Akko spat out between heaving breaths as they made it back to their blanket. “You want to cut people open for a living and you can’t even handle your foot being touched by a plant.” _

_ “Surgery is not the same as being touched by something I can’t see in a place I don’t even want to be!” Diana growled back, snagging her dry beach towel from their tote bag and wrapping it around her shivering body. “Absolutely not the same!” _

_ “You’re right.” Akko held her hands out before her, palm out, her chest throbbing as her laughter went on. “Bad example. But you’re still a wuss.” _

_ “Whatever.” _

_ Diana plopped down on the blanket, swiping sand away with her hand as she kicked her legs out and held the towel around her shoulders. Akko joined her, stretching her long legs out. In her hand she held Bernadette’s hat, which she offered with a smile. _

_ “Thanks,” Diana grumbled, setting it gently beside her. She glanced at her book—her body was too wet, and she didn’t want to get the pages damp, they’d stick together—so she instead settled for gazing out across the lake, at the tour boats that cruised slowly by in the distance, at the large Canadian flag that drifted lazily in a breeze that came and went as it pleased. _

_ Akko grew quiet by her side. Pensive, almost. Diana looked over to find her tracing her index finger in the sand, just circling an endless loop that slowly grew deeper until sand began to sift around the disturbance. _

_ “Are you alright?” Diana asked, studying the side of Akko’s face, at bangs askew across her forehead, at hair that dripped long rivulets of water down her chest and over her back. “You got quiet.” _

_ Akko’s lips parted, then shut. Her finger paused in the sand as she rocked back, bringing her knees closer to her chest as she turned to meet Diana’s gaze. The stare lingered, dark eyebrows wrinkling with thought and doubt and consideration until— _

_ “I’m gay.” _

_ Diana just stared back. _

_ ‘I—I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while. But I didn’t know how, you know? Practiced in the mirror and all that. Kind of planned stuff out. But I—I dunno, it’s stupid. It’s stupid for you to not know. It’s stupid for me to figure something out about myself and not share it with you.” _

_ Diana just nodded. She opened her mouth, expecting words to come out, but there were none in her head and none that she could even think to say. _

_ Akko’s eyes searched her own. “Can you… say something?” _

_ “I—” _

_ Diana licked her lips. Her fingernails were digging into the side of her knee, her body tensing beneath the demand of a reaction she wasn’t prepared to make. “I don’t really know what to say,” she said at last, her words slow and pointed, each syllable drawn out in some lame attempt to buy more time with finding the perfect response. “What’s the right thing to say?” _

_ Akko shrugged. She looked away, finding the kids playing in the sand and jumping through the nearly still water of the lake, and focused. “I dunno,” she replied. “I just don’t want anything to change, I guess.” _

_ Diana’s eyes narrowed. “Why would anything change?” _

_ Akko’s bony shoulders rolled in a shrug. “If you were against that kind of thing, or something.” _

_ Diana scoffed. “Akko, it’s 2015. Plus, when have I ever given any sort of indication that I’m a homophobe?” _

_ “You haven’t.” _

_ “Then there’s your answer,” Diana replied, looking down at the dents she’d left in her skin. “You’re my best friend. I’ll be by your side no matter what.” A pause, a hesitation, and then, “Do your parents know?” _

_ Akko chuckled, a sad noise that caught behind her teeth. “No,” she said. “They wouldn’t approve.” _

_ Diana knew that. She knew the answer before she asked the question. Okaa-san and Otou-san were traditional, were strict in their morals and beliefs and the ways of their ancestors. Akko coming out to them would not go well. Diana felt a pang of sympathy. _

_ They stayed quiet for a while. Let the moment soak in as the water dried on their skin, let Akko’s words wash over them as the lake tasted the sand in a slow, mesmerizing pattern. Diana traced the creased, broken spine of her book. Akko picked at a scab on her shin. _

_ “How did you know?” _

_ Akko drew a breath. Her nail dug into the scab, pulled it away, let a blood form in the nearly healed wound, and Diana swatted her hand away with a, “Stop it or it won’t heal.” _

_ “It’s hard to describe,” Akko said after mulling the thought for a minute. “I just… don’t care about boys like the other girls do. But it’s more like. I don’t know—” _

_ She smeared the little bit of blood across her leg and looked up, met Diana’s eyes. “There’s this girl that I just… think about all the time, you know? I think about her and it makes me nervous. I think about her when I go to sleep. And, I, just—” Akko’s gaze flicked down, lingered at Diana’s lips. She swallowed, her voice lowering. “I see her, and I just want to kiss her.” _

_ Her eyes yanked back up, found Diana’s eyes again. She forced a smile. “I think that makes me kind of gay.” _

_ Diana could feel her body quivering. She tugged the towel tighter around her body as her own eyes trailed down, stopped at the slightly parted lips of her best friend, at the tiny freckle at the corner of her bottom lip, and nodded. _

_ “That… makes sense,” she said. _

_ Akko turned, stared straight ahead once more. _

_ “Who’s the girl?” Diana asked. Akko had a lot of friends. She was popular, well-liked, always bouncing around between crowds in school and greeting everybody as though they’d been friends for a lifetime. _

_ Akko shrugged. She was shaking a little bit, but Diana just figured that maybe she was cold—she was in just a bikini, and her skin was still drying—before finding Diana’s eyes with a sad twitch of her lips. _

_ “Nobody I’ll ever have a chance with.” _

* * *

DC: Are you busy?

AH: Nope. Just watching a game. Why?

DC: Would you mind if I came over for a bit?

AH: Sure. Do you need me to pick you up? I don’t live on campus.

DC: I’ll walk.

AH: You sure? It’s snowing.

DC: I’m sure. I wouldn’t mind the fresh air.

AH: Alright. 24 Troyer. Let me know if you change your mind.

DC: I’ll be there in a bit. Thank you.

Diana leaned against the wall where she’d come to lean after quickly shutting the door to her dorm. Her fingers closed tight around the LCBO bag in her hand, pulling it to her chest as she stared down at her exchange with Andrew. She closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh as she listened to the sound of the heat cutting on in the building, to laughter from an adjacent dorm room, to another door opening, music filtering into the halls, only to disappear once the lock clicked into place.

_ “Hi. Lotte, right?” _

_ “Oh. Uh. Y-yes. Hello, Diana!” _

_ The short girl beamed back at her with a look that said ‘Why is this girl talking to me?’ combined with the frenzied blush of uncertainty that came with somebody knowing who Diana was in the figure skating world. But she paid it no mind, merely offering her warmest smile in response and pushing her hands deeper into her jacket. _

_ “You’re friends with Akko, correct?” _

_ Lotte glanced to the girl at her side—the Zamboni driver. Sucy, if Diana recalled right—who merely puffed at lavender bangs and looked off to the ice to see how many skaters remained. She was clearly in a rush to get the ice polished before dashing off to whatever it was she did in her spare time. Of, which, Diana had no intent on finding out. _

_ “I… yes. I am,” Lotte replied, a timid smile stretching across her lips. Her hands wrapped around the tassels to her knit hat and pulled, bits of her short strawberry blonde hair puffing out across a freckled forehead. “I—well, we—” she gave Sucy a sideways glance, “—met her last year at orientation. Why?” _

_ Diana looked down, shuffling at the aluminum floor of the stands with her boots, before lifting her gaze to meet Lotte’s curious eyes once more. “I was just wondering,” she started, letting her eyes stray to the ice where Akko was clapping hands with the other team. “Does she drink? I’m, her, uh, roommate.” She cleared her throat. “I was going to get her something to celebrate the win.” _

_ “Oh.” Lotte nodded, her smile widening. “She does sometimes. Um, beer, usually, I guess.” She squinted her eyes in thought. “But I do know she likes whisky, too, if she can afford it.” _

_ “Right. Okay.” Diana dropped her chin, mulling the options in her head. She didn’t like either, but she wanted to get Akko something, so it honestly didn’t matter. She smiled, making sure to look between both Lotte and Sucy as she finished with a, “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” _

_ “Of course, Diana.” Lotte was blushing, her lips cocking in a way that made Diana think that she  _ knew  _ something. Maybe Akko had mentioned they had once been friends? She wasn’t sure. “Good luck.” _

_ She watched as Lotte and Sucy walked off, headed towards the ice and their friends. Wishing one luck was an odd sentiment, one that she acknowledged for a brief moment before deciding not to dwell on it. _

_ And after all, the LCBO would be closing soon, and she had an Uber to catch if she wanted to get there in time. _

It was a school night, but she had been hoping to at least have a drink with Akko. Celebrate the win, maybe play some of the games that she had bought but they still hadn’t touched. Maybe catch up, if Akko was open to it.

She had not expected to open the door to find Akko making out with her girlfriend on the couch.

Though why shouldn’t she have? Of course Avery would want to spend time with Akko after the first game of the season, and a win nonetheless. She had been at the game, had been cheering animatedly with her friends. It was dumb of Diana to think Akko wouldn’t have plans, that Akko would be open to spending time with somebody who was nothing more than a former friend in a stranger’s body. Every interaction so far had been awkward, and for Diana to expect anything else—well, she had clearly let her daydreams take the lead on her actions.

After all, Akko was as popular as she used to be. She had a close group of friends, a band that actually got gigs, a girlfriend. She was everything that she always had been. Diana leaving had not stopped that, had not paused the flow of time and a life that had simply moved on without her.

With a sigh, she rocked herself off the wall and walked away from her dorm, struggling to push away the anxiety that wrapped its clenched fist around her chest. She stepped out into the night, into a sky that hung heavy with clouds, into snow that drifted, thick and lazy, over a campus that was as empty and alone as she was, and began the long walk to Andrew’s flat.

* * *

Andrew’s flat was dark, the only light coming from the flash of whatever hockey game was on the telly and a dimly lit lamp next to a rather comfortable looking leather couch. He greeted Diana with a warm, lingering hug at the door before taking her coat and hanging it on a rack filled with posh jackets that certainly didn’t look like Andrew’s style.

“Frank’s,” Andrew said with a chuckle, following Diana’s gaze—to a pride flag that hung adjacent to an Arsenal flag in the living room, a dirty ‘ _ Kiss Me I’m Gay’  _ coffee mug next to the sink, a Ru Paul’s Drag Race calendar on a rainbow magnet on the fridge—and nodding. “He does the decorating, mostly. But he did let me put that football flag up.” He tilted his chin to the Arsenal flag. “Quite sure it’s only because he’s got a bit of a thing for Holding, though,” he added.

Diana said nothing. She delicately removed her boots, curling toes frozen inside woolen socks against the marble floor, and held the wrinkled LCBO bag towards him.

“Mm.” Andrew motioned her forward as she looked around. It was a nice flat, really. A two-story duplex on the outer edges of campus, minimally furnished but cozy nonetheless. She imagined the rent was rather costly, but Andrew’s father was well compensated as CEO of the North American division of Cavendish Medical. Even for Toronto, the monthly fee was likely lint from his pocket.

“Thought you were going to hang out with Akko tonight?” Andrew asked, sliding on ratty white socks across the kitchen floor and looking through the cabinets for rocks glasses.

“She was—” Diana paused, nibbling at her bottom lip as she looked down, thinking of what to say. “Already engaged.”

“Got it.” He pulled the bottle she’d chosen from the bag, turning it in his hand. His lips pursed as he cocked his head and nodded in appreciation. “Gretzky, eh?” He turned to her with a lopsided smile. “Somebody help you with this, or do you actually know who this bloke is?”

“I had the unique experience of growing up in this hockey-obsessed place,” Diana grumbled. “I thought it would suit the occasion well.”

“Well, I suppose it would have.” Andrew’s finger fell to the top, picking at the wrapping momentarily before freezing, emerald eyes finding Diana’s with one raised brow. “I’m assuming,” he said. “Did you want to—”

“Go ahead,” Diana said. “Why not?”

Andrew resumed opening the bottle. “It’s not a bad whisky,” he said as he pulled the cork out and poured a finger into each glass. “I prefer rye. Either way, they make it much better here than in Europe. My opinion, anyway. Father would argue himself into the crematorium.”

“I’m quite loyal to gin,” Diana replied, nudging her toes idly at the floor. They were slowly thawing and her feet tingled as warmth spread.

A glass slid into her field of vision. She looked up to find Andrew watching her, his own glass held close to his chest.

“Or would you like some ice?”

“This is fine,” she said, eyeing the copper liquid as she hesitantly took the glass. He reached forward, meeting her own glass halfway with a, “Cheers,” and taking a sip.

She raised the glass to her lips. The alcohol assaulted her nostrils and she stopped herself from reeling away as she tilted it back and let the tiniest bit wash into her mouth, over her tongue, down her throat.

It burned.

Andrew must have noticed the grimace she made because he chuckled, clapping her gently on the shoulder before walking off to the living area, where the telly was still on, unwatched. “You’re a bold one, Cavendish.” He turned, glancing over his shoulder as he searched for a place for the whisky bottle on a cluttered coffee table. “Would you like to watch anything in particular? I apologize for my poor hosting. I didn’t plan on having company tonight.”

“I didn’t plan on giving you company tonight,” Diana replied, following him as she glanced down a dark hallway. “Where’s Frank?”

“Probably cruising. I don’t know.” He flopped down at the end of the couch, unable to hide a smirk as he found Diana’s wide eyes and burst into laughter. “I’m joking, Diana. He has book club on Wednesdays. Be glad he wasn’t in charge of hosting tonight. You’d be walking into wine, cheese, and overly animated conversations about whatever social justice book was the flavor of the week.”

Diana sat delicately next to him. Her eyes fluttered to the telly. Hockey. Canadiens at some States team. She shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so awful.”

“It isn’t, until the wine’s gone and they’re telling grotesquely detailed stories of their best sex.” He faked a shudder. “There are a great many things I did not need to know about Frank. Anyway, I can change this to something else. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’d… just like to sit, if you don’t mind,” she said, raising the glass to her lips and shuddering once more as she lowered it. She wasn’t sure if she could get used to whisky, especially straight. “I just appreciate you making time for me. I wasn’t keen on staying home with… that.”

Andrew hummed. He kicked his socked feet up onto the coffee table, letting the soft leather cushion absorb him as he leaned back and slowly drank the whiskey. He rolled the liquid in its glass, eyeing it as it sloshed slowly about. “Don’t blame you, if it’s what I think you’re implying,” he murmured. He looked at her with a warm smile. “You’re always welcome here. If you’d like to stay the night, I think I’ve got some stuff that might fit you. Sort of. Got a spare toothbrush, too. Or, well—” He chuckled. “Frank does. Has a whole bunch for one-nighters. Pretty sure he wouldn’t be bothered if I let you have one. You can even have my bed. I sleep out here a lot, anyway.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to be a bother,” she replied. She turned her attention to the game, to the players that were flying across the ice—much faster paced than Akko’s game, and much rougher—as the puck soared back and forth over the midline. “Who’s playing?”

“Never a bother.” He reached behind him and grabbed an oversized microfleece blanket, tossing it in her direction. “Montreal and Detroit. Boring game, really, but there weren’t any other teams I wanted to watch.”

Diana nodded. She drank the whisky, letting it burn down her throat as she let her mind focus on the game and not the image of Akko. Of Akko—

_ Hovering above her, cheeks red and flaming with both effort and insecurity, the tip of her nose brushing against Diana’s. She was breathing hard—from exhaustion or nerves or anxiety, Diana wasn’t sure—but she was handling Diana as though she was made of glass, as though she would shatter at her fingertips with any wrong move. Their eyes were holding, an unbreakable link, a thin thread keeping them together. She did not want it to end. For the first time in what seemed like so long, she was  _ feeling _ , she was  _ safe _ , she was  _ alive.

“Diana?”

“Hm?”

She looked up, tilting the glass to her lips only to find that it was empty. Andrew was holding the bottle forward, eyebrows raised in offering.

“More?”

“Sure,” she said, watching as he poured liquor—more than the first time—into her glass.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Just… watching the game. What just happened?”

She pointed to the telly, where one of the players was getting shoved off the ice and into a penalty box. Numbers lit up on the side of the screen, but she didn’t understand. Sure, she’d been to a Leafs game a time or two in her lifetime, but understanding the sport was far different from going for the novelty of it—or, well, because Akko was going.

“Foul on the Wings for hooking,” Andrew explained, sipping his own whiskey as he turned back to the game. “Means he used his stick to impede the other player. Gives Montreal a power play.”

“Power play?”

“Er—yeah. Detroit has two minutes where they’re down a player. Gives Montreal the advantage.” He turned back to Diana. “You sure want to learn about hockey, eh? That why you wanted to go to Akko’s game tonight?”

Diana shrugged. “I just… wanted to be a supportive roommate, I suppose.”

“Uh-huh.” He re-adjusted on the couch so that his body was facing hers. For the first time, she noticed that he was just in pajamas. A white shirt and a pair of green flannel sweatpants. She’d never seen him in anything but nice clothes, in anything that was for appearances only, and a feeling of comfort washed over her. Perhaps it was the whisky, perhaps that it was being with the one person in North America that felt like an actual friend. She didn’t care. Nor did she complain.

“She used to be my best friend,” Diana said after a moment, looking down into her glass. “Before I moved back to England.”

“Oh.” Andrew nodded, tilting his chin to the side. “That was her? Thought that girl was taller than you.”

“I grew,” Diana said, chuckling. “Or she shrank. Or both. Either way, yes.”

“I see.”

They both sipped their whisky. Her brain was starting to fog in the way that felt good, in the way that made her relax.

_ Akko was there for her. She always had been, always would be. And there were moments, so many heart-pounding and anxiety-riddled moments that left her nothing more than a bundle of nerves in human form, that had predicted the outcome. But it wasn’t meant to be  _ there—it  _ wasn’t meant to be _ then _ —and only Diana was to blame. They weren’t ready, not in the least, and she had put Akko into a corner with her desperation. She had lost so much. Her mother. Her home. Herself. _

_ She just wanted something, anything to fill the void that was spreading, that was eating her alive. She was desperate, so desperate, and as she unravelled beneath Akko, so too did everything that they had built—until nothing remained, and she lost even more because of it. _

She did not realize she was crying until Andrew’s arms closed around her, until she found her body being pulled close to his. She could smell the last remnants of the day’s cologne on his neck, the faint hint of his hair gel, and she allowed him to engulf her and surround her and hold her.

“I’m sorry,” she half-said, half-whimpered against his chest. “I don’t know—”

“Emotions and whisky,” he said, chuckling sadly. “I knew there was more wrong than you just walking in on Akko doing whatever Akko was doing. You may think you’re a stone wall, but you wear your emotions on your sleeves. Just have to know where to look.” He placed his whisky glass on the table and pulled the blanket around them. “I only know because I’m just like you.”

Diana closed her eyes. Her lashes were wet against her skin, damp against Andrew’s shirt. She felt his long fingers snake through her hair, combing and rolling and gently massaging her scalp, and let it happen. She let it happen and she cried on him, because he was there and because  _ she _ was there and because he was the only person in the whole world that she had left to trust.

“I broke us,” she whispered when the worst of the tears were over, when her eyes slowly opened and she stared at the hazy, blurry hockey game that played out across the room. He had come to rest his chin on the top of her head as he held her close. “It’s my fault.”

“It takes two to fall apart,” Andrew said. He took a breath. “I don’t know what happened between you two. And you don’t need to tell me. But Diana, you moved across the world. She stayed here. It’s tough to keep friendships, especially if you don’t know if you’ll be back. Especially if you don’t know if you’ll ever see each other again.”

“But I wrote.” Diana felt her fist clench against Andrew’s shirt. Felt the hairs of his chest scrunch beneath the fabric. Her teeth clenched. “I wrote. Every. Single. Day.” She took a deep, rattling breath. “I called. I emailed. I did  _ everything _ and she… she…,” she trailed off.

“Then it’s not all your fault.” His fingernails scraped against her scalp. Comforting. Relaxing. “Like I said, Diana. It takes two.”

“It makes me not want to get close to anybody ever again,” Diana grumbled. She tucked her legs up, rested them against his. “Everybody just lets you down.”

Andrew sighed. “It doesn’t have to be like that. There will be people who stay. I promise, there will. Everybody has something going on. And other people will try to break you, whether they mean it or not. They’re only cracks, really. But—” He let out a long breath of air, whisky-scented breath warming the side of Diana’s face. “But the nice thing is that other people will be there to build you, too. They’ll either help put the pieces back together, or help make a whole new you.”

She said nothing. She knew she was being pathetic, and she was sure she would care. Later, maybe the next day. But not then. Not there.

“I’m not sure if this is what you want to hear,” Andrew started, his hand leaving her hair to find her shoulder instead, thumb rolling against her sweater. “But I think I know where you’re at. I’ve been there. And… and I don’t think it’s worth giving up on Akko just yet.”

“And what makes you think that?” she asked, squeezing her eyes shut once more to try to rid herself of the picture of Akko’s mouth moving against Avery’s, in the heat and passion that emanated from the single, obstructed glance she got.

“Because I’ve been there,” Andrew said, “And I don’t know everything, but I know what it looks like when somebody’s going to break you.” His throat rolled in a hard swallow, his voice lowering. “And I don’t really know Akko, so I might be wrong, but I don’t really see that in her.”

Diana nodded against his chest. She snaked her arms around his upper body, against the lean muscles that hardened and then softened with the touch, and squeezed. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her lips felt damp and sticky as she spoke. “For this.”

She felt him smile into her hair. “Of course,” he whispered back. And even quieter, in a pitch that she could barely hear if he wasn’t so close, “I needed this, too.”

Diana closed her eyes. Let herself fade into Andrew, let herself relax and fall asleep in arms that did not hold her as though she was made of glass, because she knew wasn’t anymore.

And maybe that’s what would make all the difference.


	10. The Great Divide

**CHAPTER TEN**

THE GREAT DIVIDE

* * *

_ AKKO _

* * *

Akko stared straight ahead as she shoveled cereal into her mouth. Staying up late the night before was a mistake, one that she was paying for as she yawned, milk dribbling down her chin. Angel was mewling at her feet, rubbing against her bare legs in a not-so-subtle beg for treats.

She stared at Diana’s door. There hadn’t been any movement yet and they had their 8 a.m. in half an hour. She was about to go knock, to see if maybe Diana had forgotten to set her alarm or had possibly and unfortunately died in her sleep, when the door to their dorm creaked open.

“Oh. Hi.”

Akko blinked, turning and nearly tripping over Angel as she gaped at Diana coming through the door. She watched as her roommate shrugged out of a coat still covered with snow flurries, delicately kicked out of her boots, and pulled her knit cap from tangled, messy hair. Her face was gaunt, pale, eyes rimmed with red as she regarded Akko with a nervous smile.

“Wha—”Akko looked back at Diana’s closed bedroom door, then back to her. “I thought—but—wait—” Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “You weren’t home?”

Diana shook her head slowly. “I stopped by for a moment and it looked like you and Avery needed some, um—” She swallowed noticeably, placing her keys on the counter and looking away. “Alone time.”

Akko felt her face blanch, then flood with warmth as fresh embarrassment and the knowledge of Diana  _ seeing _ them rushed to realization. “Oh.” She set her cereal bowl down, ignoring Angel as she immediately leapt up onto the counter and began lapping around the fruity pebbles to get to the milk. “So, um, where were you?”

She looked like she hadn’t slept. And she was certainly wearing the same clothes from the night before, so wherever she went was unplanned at best. The possibility that Diana was out for, well,  _ reasons _ , honed in on the forefront of her mind and she felt a knot growing in her gut.

“A friend’s,” Diana said. Dull, tired eyes shot to her bedroom door. “Pardon me. I have to shower before—” She glanced at the microwave, frowning at the time, before muttering a, “Bloody hell,” and disappearing into her room, the door closing with a wall-shaking ricochet that sent Angel scurrying off the counter in a puff of flying hair.

Akko just stared, her early-morning brain struggling to grasp the thoughts that ran haywire through her mind. Diana had seen her and Avery. But how much? And she had stayed out with a friend, a vague answer at best. She hated the hypocrite in her that came with the fear that Diana had been…  _ with _ … someone, hated the anxiety that ran a marathon through her chest.

Even more than that, she hated awkward interactions. She was growing tired of them, growing sick of a dance that she didn’t know the movements for, and with resolve—and a yawn—she rushed to her own room to throw on whatever clothes were in the clean pile on her floor. Or, it could have been the dirty pile. She wasn’t sure.

Diana’s tea tumbler was dirty next to the sink. She could hear the shower still running as she cleaned it out and got to work, Angel continuing to beg in every way possible for the treats she knew would come before Akko left for her morning class.

She was pouring boiling water into the tumbler when Diana finally emerged from her room, her hair still wet and falling in waves from beneath her knit cap. Red-rimmed eyes were searching frantically around the kitchen.

“Here,” Akko said, holding out Diana’s satchel that was stupidly heavy with books and a tumbler still spilling steam from the lid. “I didn’t want you to be late, so…”

Diana froze. Blinked. She stepped slowly forward, eyebrows scrunching together as she looked from Akko, to her bag, to the tea. She wasn’t wearing any make-up. She looked tired, but the raw beauty of her untouched face, of the constellation of freckles that scattered, uncovered, over an adorably crooked nose, made Akko take a sharp, whistling breath.

“You made me tea?” Diana asked. Blue eyes shifted from the tumbler to Akko, who flashed a semi-confident smile. “That’s… very kind of you.”

She tugged her still snow-dampened coat over a carelessly buttoned flannel and took the offered tea, shouldering the heavy bag as though it was nothing before pulling on her boots with her spare hand.

“Thank you,” Diana finally said with a shy glance, pink barely visible at the height of her cheeks. She reached for the door handle before pausing, lifting her gaze once more to meet Akko’s.   
“Don’t you have class, too?”

“Yeah,” Akko replied, pulling on her own old orange coat and her beat up Converse. “Same class as you.”

“Oh.”

Diana hesitated, her hand tightening on her tea as she opened the door, letting the sound of rushing students and sleepy conversations filter into the dorm, before finding Akko’s eyes with a tired smile.

“Would you like to walk together?”

Akko tousled her hair before tugging her Leafs beanie over her ears. She glanced back at Angel, who was spread eagle on the counter grooming herself. She nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, looking down in an attempt to hide a blush and a smile. “I’d like that.”

* * *

_ Diana was silent. She lay still, blonde curls spread across one of the many pillows Akko had placed on the floor of her hastily built fort, shimmering in bright colors from the glare of the Christmas lights that lined her bedroom wall. Blank eyes stared, fogged and unblinking, at the movie Akko had carefully chosen from her collection. One that wasn’t sad, one that wasn’t heavy, one that didn’t require much thinking. _

_ She’d gone with Brave. _

_ The sleepover had not been planned, but encouraged. Anna had called Okaa-san earlier in the evening, desperate to get Diana away from the hospital, to get a break from the sight and smell of lingering, unavoidable death. Diana had been there for three days—missing school, missing meals, missing sleep—and her sole guardian could not bear to watch any longer. She’d been opposed, of course. Leaving her mother’s side meant the potential of not being there when  _ it _ happened, of leaving her mother alone in the one crucial moment that mattered the most. _

_ The only thing that pulled her away was reassurance from the nurses that the time was not right, that Bernadette was still coherent at times that could almost even be considered awareness, and hospice would be more likely in the coming days. It was a tough call, one that brought tears to even a hardened, stoic Otou-san, but it was enough to drag Diana away from the hospital, away from the shell of her mother, and into a warm and welcoming home. _

_ Diana barely touched her udon. She hardly spoke. The most energy she could muster was returning Okaa-san’s tight hug, nodding into the woman’s shoulder when she reassured her that everything would be alright, that she should get some rest, that the next day would be a new day and she needed the strength to tackle it. _

_ But Akko? Akko felt useless. _

_ She lay stiff next to her best friend, watching the movie but not processing. Her entire being was focused on the hurt soul beside her, on the one person she cared the most about on the entire planet, and the pain that radiated around her. Diana stayed silent, but Akko was more than aware of the tears that leaked silently, on and off again, onto the pillow beneath her head. Each time she dug her cheek a little bit further into the fabric, a little bit closer to Akko, and fingers flexed against the blanket surrounding them. _

_ Akko swallowed, sitting up a little against the edge of her bed that served as the wall to the fort. Her gaze fell to Diana, to the chest that rose and fell, stuttering occasionally with the choke of a sob. _

_ “Are you—” Okay? Akko stopped herself, taking a deep breath and opting instead for a quiet, “You should get some sleep, Diana.” _

_ Diana turned her eyes up. Platinum lashes were damp with tears. Red rimmed her eyes, flushed cheeks gaunt with stress and sorrow. “I know,” she said, her fingers tightening against the blanket once more. “But it’s so loud, Akko.” _

_ “I can turn it down.” Akko fumbled for the remote, which—of course—she had no memory of placing anywhere. A clammy palm on her arm stopped her. _

_ “I wasn’t referring to the movie.” _

_ “Oh.” Akko blinked back down, eyebrows scrunched together. “Is it the heater? Or—” _

_ Diana’s hand lifted, one finger falling weakly to her temple, and she scooted up, her shoulder pressing against Akko’s as she drew her knees into her chest. “I just can’t stop thinking.” _

_ Akko nodded slowly. She leaned into the contact, pushing away the tightness in her chest when Diana closed in and let the side of her head fall against her own. “I know,” she said, stupidly, because she  _ didn’t  _ know. Her parents were alive, and well, and downstairs likely having their post-supper tea or reading together. Akko didn’t know loss, not like Diana did, and once more the overwhelming feeling of uselessness enveloped her mind. _

_ But Diana did not object. She wasn’t the type to hold something like that over Akko, to one-up her with her own pain, and she merely shifted, sighed. _

_ “I don’t want to lose her,” Diana murmured, her voice breaking under the pressure of sadness. “I’m not ready, Akko.” _

_ “I don’t think anybody can ever be ready for something like that.” _

_ “I suppose.” _

_ Queen Elinor was smothering Merida in kisses. Akko clenched her jaw, wanting more than anything to stop the scene, to turn off the movie, but that in itself would have made things even more awkward. Instead, she remained motionless. Feeling Diana breathe against her. Still. Quiet. _

_ “I don’t want to lose you, either.” _

_ A soft hand wrapped around Akko’s lower arm, clutching gently, fingers tracing over the sensitive skin of her wrist. Akko felt her breath hitch. She didn’t move, didn’t respond. _

_ The loss of Bernadette was inevitable. It was any day, any hour, any moment. Any breath could, or would, be her last, and her life had come to nothing more than the last remnants of sand falling through an hourglass. _

_ And the loss of Diana? Well, that was inevitable, too. _

_ Her only family was in Europe. Anna was a caretaker, not a guardian, and had no control over whether or not Diana would stay in Canada. Her aunt and cousins were due to arrive the next day and, when they went back to England, Diana would likely be with them. _

_ Akko let out a heavy, wavering breath. She could feel her own eyes growing wet, her cheeks reddening with the very thought of losing her best friend. It was a topic that they’d avoided. The great divide where they simply traversed the edge as though it wasn’t there all the same, as though some bridge would magically appear to carry them across. _

_ It was like growing up. Like getting older. Like putting one foot in front of the other because they  _ had _ to, because that’s where the winding path of life carried them, and there was no use debating what was to come. _

_ But the sun was setting, only shadows loomed ahead, and the bridge remained unbuilt. _

_ Diana’s fingers intertwined with her own and squeezed, held. Akko squeezed back, letting her eyes fall shut as she sank into the gravity of the moment, into a world where nothing existed but the girl beside her. It was a sad world, all things considered, but Akko would take a sad moment with Diana over no moment with her at all. _

_ “Akko.” _

_ Akko glanced over to find wet eyes searching her own. _

_ “Would you mind, just… holding me? For a little?” _

_ Akko nodded. She sank back down, letting her head come to rest on the pile of pillows that she’d pushed up against her bed, and opened an arm to let Diana curl into her side. Diana settled in, not letting Akko’s fingers fall from her own as she burrowed a wet face into Akko’s neck. _

_ The melody of Akko’s drumming heart hurt. She knew Diana had to feel it, had to know. After all, it wasn’t as though being this close was something they had made a habit of doing. It was the opposite, really. Simple touches that would not have been interpreted as anything other than friendship had been purposefully avoided. Hugs were superficial. Physicality had become a dance where they both knew the choreography well, where actions were merely mimicked from an arm’s length, and they could have reached out, could have embraced whatever—if anything—was happening between them. _

_ But they didn’t. _

_ Not until now. Not until it was nearly too late. _

_ The closest they’d come was a few days prior where they’d almost… almost… _

_ Akko let her fingers thread through Diana’s tangled hair, greasy from the thoughtless and muscle memory showers that came only when Anna forced her to, and gently massaged her scalp. She felt Diana sigh into her, slowly melting away from life and death and the unknown, and hold on tighter. Her thumb massaged against Akko’s, a jerky and unsure motion that grew confidence as silent moments passed them by. _

_ Akko turned. Closed her eyes. Buried her face in thick hair that tickled her cheeks, her nose, her lips. _

_ And with Diana’s intoxicating warmth, a single thought flooded her mind. Loud and invasive, the words pounding against her skull again and again until she was mouthing them unconsciously. _

I love you.

_ She had loved Diana for so, so long. It was like an alarm that went off in her head every time she saw her friend. Every time that timid smile stretched just for her. Every time she laughed, every time she spoke, every time their eyes met in a way that shared more words than either of them could. _

_ Diana’s hand slowly dropped Akko’s, letting warmth fade with the absence of touch, and reached up. Akko felt fingers slide over her neck, through her hair, fingernails scraping against her scalp, and let out a sharp breath that she knew Diana had to hear. _

_ Her friend was gripping her hair, painful but blissful all the same, and Akko was barely able to process Diana lifting her head through the heat that flared beneath her skin, from the static that grew in volume and intensity in her mind. _

_ She moved on instinct, letting their foreheads fall together, and sighed. She could feel the warm air of Diana’s breath coasting over her cheeks, her lips. Could feel the tip of Diana’s nose—a nose she’d accidentally broken before—brushing against her own. _

_ “Don’t leave me.” A breath. “Please.” _

_ For a moment, Akko thought  _ she _ had said it. But she hadn’t. _

_ It was Diana. _

_ Akko swallowed hard, choking back the lump that rose to the front of her throat, and rolled her jaw. She nodded slowly, gripping Diana’s hair tighter, suddenly conscious of the other girl’s shuddering breath, of the heart that drummed at a rhythm that matched her own. _

I love you.

_ Diana’s lips brushed against her own, a ghost of a touch that made Akko’s eyes open to find a lidded gaze staring back at her. Blue eyes flicked down, then back up. _

_ It was there—dangling in front of her like forbidden fruit that was suddenly hers for the taking—and all she had to do was move a centimeter. All she had to do was be brave, to embrace the confidence that Diana wanted this, too. Their lips tickled together, a tease of a touch that made Akko’s breath shallow, that made her palms clammy, that made everything else fade away. _

_ But she couldn’t. _

_ Maybe it was the fear of losing her friend. Maybe it was the fear of rejection. Maybe it was just plain, unexplainable  _ fear.

_ She pulled back. A sad smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she held Diana’s gaze, as she brushed her thumb against a soft temple. _

_ “I won’t,” she promised, not knowing it was a promise that she couldn’t keep. _

* * *

Snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked in silence: Diana trudging forward in a slow, straight line; Akko carefully maneuvering around slick ice patches that she knew the worn soles of her converse couldn’t handle. The cold was already seeping through the holes in her shoes, soaking into her socks and making her toes numb. But she didn’t complain. She said nothing, mostly because she didn’t know  _ what _ to say.

The campus was quiet. Snow was still falling, but in flakes so tiny it hardly made any difference to the layer of heavy snow that had accumulated the night before. There were a few other students hustling to get to their own classes, anxious to get out of the bitter cold that had made itself at home, but Diana’s limp slowed them down and Akko stuck by her side, unconsciously grateful for the ability to dodge a slipping accident that would’ve otherwise happened.

A muffled choke broke the silence. Diana lowered her tea tumbler, glancing at Akko with an eyebrow that raised into her knit cap. “Uh, Akko, just curious, but how much sugar did you put in this?”

Akko shrugged. “‘Bout a handful.”

“And, dare I ask, how much is a handful?”

“Uh, I dunno.” Akko held out her own hand, bare and white and dry with the exposure to the cold, and flexed her fingers. “Toddler sized, I guess. Pre-toddler.”

“Right.” Diana nodded, a smirk painting across her lips as she looked straight ahead. “Well, I appreciate the gesture.”

Akko shivered into her coat, unconsciously bumping against Diana’s shoulder and immediately veering about a foot away. The other girl didn’t notice—or made a point not to show that she noticed—and Akko buried her fists deep into her pockets, looking pointedly at the ground. The wind whipped her hair across her cheeks and neck but she ignored it, ignored the strand that stuck to her teeth and her tongue, and trudged on. She hadn’t expected the walk to be awkward. It was just a walk, after all, to the same class that they both shared. But it was like there were a million words hanging in the air between them, dancing and taunting and laughing at their very presence, and Akko quickly found herself overwhelmed with the need to say  _ anything _ .

“Uh, sorry about last night,” she blurted, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “You could’ve just come in, you know. Or texted. Or, uh—”

“I understand when privacy is needed,” Diana said, her voice flat. She lifted her tea, then seemed to think better of it, and lowered it once again. “I know if I was enjoying someone's company, I wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Right.”

Akko swallowed. She puffed air out in front of her, watching it cloud and vaporize, before speaking again.

“Did you, uh, have fun at your friend’s house?”

Diana shrugged. She faltered around a particularly slick patch of pavement, her leg dragging behind her before she seemed to gain control of it once more. “I suppose,” she answered.

“Are you alright?” Akko asked, almost shooting her arm out to steady Diana on instinct, but quickly correcting herself and forcing her fists tighter against her sides.

“Yes.” Diana glanced at Akko. Her face was flushed from the cold, wet hair hardened and stiff against her coat. “Blood probably froze around the rods. It happens often. I’ll drink the tea and it’ll thaw everything out.” She paused, lips pursing, eyes narrowing in thought. “Though the sugar may delay the process.”

“Oh.” Akko’s eyes widened as she glanced up at her roommate. Looking up at Diana was still something she wasn’t quite used to. “Oh. I’m sorry, I—”

“I’m kidding,” Diana muttered, chuckling. “Just stiff.”

The building loomed ahead, tall and bland in lifeless brown brick, naked branches heavy with snow scraping against high windows in the stop-and-start breeze. A couple students milled around at the bottom of the steps, quickly finishing off the last of their cigarettes before they could rush back into the warmth.

Akko did not like class, especially early ones, but at least it would be respite from the cold and a welcome distraction from everything else.

Even if the main distraction was in the same room.

Diana came to a stop just outside the doors, hesitating as she glanced into the building at the students rushing through the hallways and the few groups that pushed past, anxious to find warmth. She shifted nervously, her hands finding her own pockets as she looked down, then back up at Akko, who was actively stomping at the ground in an attempt to bring blood flow back to her numb toes.

“Do you have any plans tonight, by chance?” she asked after a moment.

Akko narrowed her eyes. “I have practice. Why?”

“Hey, Akko!” a voice blurted out behind them. Akko turned to see Amanda, who had raised her hand in a wave but immediately lowered it upon seeing Diana. “I, uh—yeah, sorry, see you inside, mate.”

Akko turned back to Diana, gnawing at chapped lips. She looked flushed, resting her weight on her good leg as she looked down and kicked at fresh snow with her other. Unpleasant clouds of nicotine wafted in their direction, but neither moved.

“Oh. No worries, then.” A terse smile straightened across her lips. “I’ll see you tonight, maybe. I suppose.”

She started to walk off, but Akko’s hand shot out and seized the damp fabric of her coat. “Wait,” she blurted. She lowered her hand, clearing her throat and forcing a smile. “It’s at five. I’m free after. If you wanted to—” She paused, swallowing. “If you wanted to do something.”

Diana’s smile grew. Then, as though catching herself, she neutralized her expression with a nod. “I was just wondering if you would mind teaching me how to play the games I purchased. I noticed there’s one called Surgeon Simulator and I was thinking that it could perhaps help with my studies—”

Akko blinked. It was the second offer Diana had made to spend time with her that day  _ alone _ , and even as the cold stung her skin and bones, she felt warmth spreading through her body. Perhaps this was the foundation of a bridge that may close the gap that had grown between them, that could connect the time and space of the great divide.

Or, perhaps, it was just her faith in the good things.

Either way, it made her hopeful.

“Yeah,” she said. She met Diana’s tired eyes, not even bothering to hide a lopsided grin. “That sounds like fun.”

* * *

Akko whirled backwards, her stick following the motions of Constanze’s back-and-forth puck movement. Her blades sliced through ice choppy after a long practice, catching occasionally on a rut, but she paid no mind. She was too focused.

One-on-one drills were her favorite. Not only did it give her more practice as either a defensive or offensive player, but it gave her a good idea of her teammates’ skills. It even gave her a chance to learn from them. Especially Constanze, who was easily the best. Small and lithe, the girl darted across the ice as if she had been born there, as if the rough and tumble world of hockey had been where she belonged all along. She didn’t even look down at the puck—somehow, she always knew where it was—and instead her dark stare trained on Akko, anticipating her every move with natural skill.

Not to say Constanze couldn’t be beaten. Occasionally size would get the best of her and she’d be checked into a wall, only to rally back with the ferocity of an angry chihuahua. And, sometimes, there were just better players.

But not on the Luna Nova team.

Constanze feigned to the left and Akko fell for it, letting out a long grunt as her teammate simply dove around her, coasting by with practiced ease. But there was still time to catch her—there was still space between her and Jasminka, whose gloves were out to the side at the ready for Constanze’s trademark corner shot—and Akko spun hard, teeth grit in determination.

And she could have caught Constanze. Maybe. But, instead, her blade caught a patch of rough ice and wobbled hard against the aged duct-tape that was holding it in place against the boot. For a single hopeful moment she thought it would hold, that her mediocre repair job would do the trick, but it didn’t.

Instead, her entire blade tore away from the boot, taking most of the duct tape and some of the sole along with it.

She tumbled down, her pads striking the ice, stick spinning after Constanze in some laughable half-assed effort to stop the other girl before she skimmed the puck between Jasminka’s open legs. Before she could think, a loud curse slipped from her lips:

“ _ Kuso _ !”

“Told you that duct tape wouldn’t hold!” Amanda yelled as she hopped over the side and skated slowly toward Akko. Her voice lowered as she grew closer. “You alright, squirt?”

Akko huffed loudly, nose wrinkling as she sat up and reached for the blade that was still halfway hanging on by nothing more than a loose screw and a little bit of tape. “Yeah, _I’m_ fine, but my skates broke again.” She scowled, looking up to her friend with a hopeful smile. “What’s the most _powerful_ tape on the planet?”

“Sorry, Akko,” Coach Nelson said as she hockey stopped at her side. “There’s no fixing those unless you want to pay more than you would for a new pair. I can borrow some from rental for the time being, but those won’t be much better.” She flashed an apologetic smile. “Hard to put much faith in something that about a hundred teens have had their feet in.”

Akko sighed, unwrapping her laces and tugging her skate off to examine the damage. They were her first pair—the same pair Okaa-san and Otou-san had bought her a few years prior, when she’d started playing hockey—and they’d held up long enough for a few janky fixings. “Aw, c’mon,” she mumbled, grabbing the blade and rotating it back and forth. “I bet I can—”

Constanze had snuck up on her. She knelt, reaching forward to grab the skate and examine it for no longer than a second before shaking her head and handing it back.

“New pair it is,” Amanda announced, slapping Akko on a shoulder pad and grinning. “Bauer just came out with a sick new pair a couple months ago. Wish I could justify getting them, myself, but the ‘rents got me these digs last year.” She turned her own skates—a pair that still looked brand new and, well, extremely expensive—before nodding at Akko’s broken pair. “Where’d you get those, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Akko mumbled, the warm flood of dread rushing to her ears. “They were used.” She gulped, hesitating to ask but letting herself nonetheless. “Uh, how much… how much were those?”

“These?”

Amanda rolled her blades to the toe, modeling the boot and shrugging. “Maybe a thou. Not much.”

“A thousand… dollars?”

“No, a thousand sheep meant for dowry.” Amanda chuckled. “No big deal. What else is financial aid for, anyway?”

As Akko struggled to hide the nervous energy that radiated through her at the very thought of having to spend so much money, she could think of a lot of things.

Classes.

Food.

Shelter.

She nodded slowly, grabbing a gloved hand offered by Jasminka and stumbling to her feet. The ice was cold against her socks, but it did little to help the sweat that she could feel building beneath the heavy layer of pads beneath her jersey.

A thousand dollars.

Kuso, even if she was lucky and found some second-hand or on sale, she couldn’t even afford half that. Financial aid was out of the question, and the few gigs she got with Fountain of Polaris barely even came to 50 for her split. Rrentals were definitely a no-go. No way they’d hold up in a real game. And she wasn’t  _ about _ to embrace the embarrassment of asking her teammates if they had a spare pair.

_ Something  _ would have to work out. After all, that had been the story of her life: falling, only to claw her way back up by any means necessary, even if it wasn’t to the top. Because it was never to the top, and that was alright.

Not hitting the bottom was all that mattered.

All she had to do was believe that things would be okay.

But as she slipped off the ice in her socks, clutching her broken skates by the laces, she was well aware that the cliff she faced had no holds.

Because she simply did not have the money, and no amount of hope on earth could solve that problem.

* * *

“I thought this was supposed to be  _ educational _ ,” Diana wailed as she rhythmically pelted the hammer against the ribcage, using her opposite hand to rip out the broken bones and toss them carelessly to the side. “What if people get their hands on this and think this is what surgery is actually like?”

“Diana, I don’t think you’re really understanding the point of the game,” Akko said, tossing a piece of popcorn up into the air and catching it in her mouth. “It’s just for fun.”

“Bloody hell, I dropped my watch in his chest cavity.”

“Well, look at it this way. He’ll never have to look at a clock again.”

Diana whirled, lifting the VR headset to stare at her roommate. The goggles had dug red dents into her face from the full hour she’d spent trying to complete the  _ first _ surgery of the game. “I thought VR was supposed to be exploring new planets or flying or—”

“You mean exploring a man’s innards isn’t what you were looking for?” Akko crunched down on a fistful of popcorn, chuckling as she pointed to the television. “You’re almost done. Just get the heart out of the box and put it in.” She paused, watching as Diana pulled the goggles back over her eyes with a huff. “C’mon. I believe in you, Dr. Cavendish!”

Diana’s hand stretched to the side, nearly swiping against the standing lamp as she reached for the heart container. Akko watched as she fumbled around, her hands twisting and turning in the air as she struggled to do the single simple task that the game was asking her to do.

“Almost there,” Akko encouraged, stifling a laugh as she drew her legs up onto the couch. It was still snowing outside, the flakes falling heavily past the orange glow of the courtyard’s lanterns, and she was grateful for the warmth of their dorm and the comfort of company, even if it was a little awkward. “Might want to hurry, though. He’s bleeding to death.”

“Of course he’s bleeding to death!” Diana cursed, slapping uselessly around. “I’ve severed all his major arteries, ripped out his lungs, and dropped a watch  _ and _ a scalpel inside him!”

Akko shrugged, chuckling. “So he’s lost a few pounds and got a few extra add-ons. Whatever. Put the heart in.”

She was almost there—the hand on the screen was gently opening the container that held the heart, something she’d only even managed to get to twice in ten tries—before Angel leapt from the couch, dashed between her legs, and sent her spiraling to the side.

“Cat!” Diana shrieked, regaining her balance but knocking over the container. “Hell. I dropped it! What now?”

“Pick it up,” Akko said. She covered her mouth with her hand, knowing Diana would likely throw the entire set-up through the window if she laughed one more time. “No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Diana whirled back and forth, tilting her head in an attempt to find the organ she’d dropped. “It’s on the floor, Akko. This isn’t sanitary. This man deserves more than a floor heart.”

“Like what?” Akko asked, snorting. “A cheap watch?”

“A clean heart!” Diana huffed. “And maybe a ribcage. And, you know, possibly the other organs I ripped out!”

Diana looked all kinds of adorable. The goggles bunched her wavy blonde hair at the elastic, pushing it up to the top of her head, and the exasperated look that had permanently painted itself on her face was painfully, wonderfully familiar. Her usually graceful actions had been diminished to nothing more than the jerky motions of insecurity, her arms reaching every direction—often crashing into things Akko hadn’t even thought to move, like the wall—and her hips dipping and rolling dramatically with each movement. She had insisted Akko try at least a dozen times, though Akko managed to carefully maneuver her way into a charismatic refusal each time.

After all, watching Diana fail miserably at a game was just too good to pass up.

The heart appeared on the screen, sitting on the floor just out of arms reach. Diana bent down—Akko had to try very, very hard not to watch as her t-shirt rode up over creamy white skin and the gentle dip of back dimples—as she swiped desperately to grab it.

“Little farther,” Akko said, dodging out of the way of a hand and laughing. “Almost there. C’mon, Diana. This man’s going to die. You can’t have that on your conscience.”

“Can’t we play something else?” she whined.

“You chose this.”

“Right. Before I knew the basis was absolutely preposterous,” she spat out. She stretched a little farther, barely missing Akko’s writhing body as the hand on the screen wrapped around the pulsing heart. “Got it!” She whirled, not even facing the television all the way—clearly the controllers needed to be recalibrated—and slammed the organ home into the man’s empty (except for a few miscellaneous items) chest cavity.

_ SURGERY COMPLETE _

_ B+ _

Diana froze. Her lips parted as she gaped at the screen—or, really, the corner of the kitchen, because that was the direction she was facing—before breaking into a gleeful smile.

“I did it!”

She spun and, in her childlike excitement, a sock caught awkwardly against the carpet. She tumbled to the side, letting out a small squeak of surprise as she crashed against the couch, against Akko, and quickly ripped the goggles off her head to toss to the side.

Akko startled. She jumped back against the couch cushions, her jaw clenching as the entirety of Diana’s tall, thin frame fell against her. Long, wavy hair tickled her face and neck as the equipment was tossed to the side and all that remained was her and the warm body of Diana, whose chest heaved with excitement of her accomplishment.

She expected Diana to leap away, like she had tried to. To end the contact as soon as it began, as soon as the electric surge of skin on skin jolted through the both of them. But, instead, she leaned back, her pale, freckled face tilted towards the ceiling as she laughed, raising the single controller triumphantly in the air.

“I am Dr. Diana Cavendish!” she announced, settling against Akko’s chest as though she was made to be there, to fit there, the entire time. “Master—er, pardon me, partial amateur—of heart transplants!”

“Right,” Akko said, feeling her entire body quiver beneath the weight of her roommate, beneath the familiarity of a touch so far away, so foreign. “I. Uh. Er—congratulations, Doctor,” she choked out, feeling beads of sweat beginning to form against her temples.

“Oh.” Diana straightened up as the sudden awareness of proximity between the two hit her, hard. “My—my apologies.” She scrambled to her feet, blushing furiously as she reached for the goggles and the other controller to hold towards Akko. “I believe it’s your turn.”

“Right,” Akko said, choking down the throbbing in her throat as she reached for the equipment with shaking hands. “Heart surgery. Yeah.”

She could still feel Diana’s body against her own as she stood, struggling to focus long enough to readjust goggles still warm from Diana’s face and pull them over her eyes. It was like that night long before, when Diana had curled in close to her like a second skin, had melted into her as though she belonged there and nowhere else.

And as she silently clicked through the prompts, fully aware how silent Diana was as she settled onto where she had been sitting on the couch only moments before, she wondered if she might be the one needing the heart transplant—

Because hers was beating so hard she was afraid it might just stop working completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there's typos it wasn't me.


	11. Worlds Apart

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

WORLDS APART

* * *

_ DIANA _

* * *

“How’s the leg feel?”

Diana flowed backwards through the exit of a double flip, her arms still straight from her sides as her leg carried her around. It had felt good, honestly. There was some stiffness there, as there always would be, but the speed and the freedom of being able to perform jumps that had once come easily—even if they were now a challenge—was nothing less than a wonderful feeling.

“Not bad,” she replied, rotating forward and slowing to a stop next to Andrew, who was watching her from the center of the arena.

He flashed a smile, crossing his arms over his chest as he swiveled slowly backwards.

“Looks a little stiff,” he said. “But you’ll get the grace back. What’s a Cavendish if not graceful?”

Diana rolled her eyes, urging her legs forward into a slow glide. The ice was smooth, slick, perfectly groomed. Just the way she liked it. There were no ruts to slow the movements of her freshly sharpened blades, no patches of rough ice to avoid in hot spots like corners. The near-perfect ice glistened beneath the bright industrial lights above in an invitation to freedom that she found difficult to resist.

“Any suggestions?” she asked, throwing a hesitating glance to the box. Meridies was not there—she had said her visits would be infrequent, and Diana had been counting on that—before turning back to Andrew with a relieved sigh.

“I don’t think I’m qualified to make suggestions to an Olympian,” he scoffed. “If it weren’t for your leg, you’d probably be at some high-level competition right now.”

Diana frowned. “Not an Olympian,” she murmured, turning her gaze down to her skates, watching how smoothly they slid over the surface. “And certainly won’t ever be, now.”

“You never know.” Andrew shrugged. “You feel comfortable doing a forward sit?”

Without replying, Diana urged her legs to move, swerving slowly backwards until she built up enough momentum to carry into crossovers. She straightened her shoulders and her back as she flew across the ice, her ponytail whipping hard against pale cheeks as she soared through the corner, rounded into the straight. Her mind honed in on her task, focusing on every muscle in her body as she skimmed a 180 from an outer edge, letting her good leg stretch out before her as she centered her balance at the hollow of the single blade she kept on the ice. Her torso twisted, sending her entire body spiraling in place as she reached forward, arms wrapping around her outstretched leg and drawing it to her chest until she was clutching the blade between her fingers. She lowered, letting the momentum of the spin slow only slightly before rising in one fluid movement, slowly releasing and tucking the leg she’d been holding behind the other as her body twisted, arms coming into her chest to once again increase speed before, in one graceful, effortless exit, she lowered her leg and coasted from the movement itself.

“Well, you haven’t lost  _ that _ one,” Andrew called from across the rink, skating forward to circle her slowly. “That was perfect.”

“Not quite,” Diana huffed out, though smiling nonetheless. “Could use more fluidity in the transition, and it’s a bit more difficult to get the squat down than before.”

Andrew scoffed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re such a perfectionist.” His eyes shifted to the side of the rink. “Got company,” he said, lowering his voice.

Diana followed his gaze. There were a few first years sitting in the stands, but that didn’t surprise her. They usually came to watch the advanced classes, to pick up some tips and maybe, if they were lucky, get invited for some demonstrations. But Diana had no such intentions—the ice was hers and Andrew’s alone—and she was about to look away with disinterest until somebody else caught her eye.

Akko.

She was leaning against the wall beside Amanda and Sucy, watching intently. Hockey practice wasn’t for another hour—there was still another team reservation for the ice after her—but perhaps she had some clerical work to do as the Captain. Their eyes met and Diana raised a gloved hand in a small wave that she kept to her side as Akko flashed a timid smile and a nod.

Amanda was too busy talking to Sucy—who looked entirely disinterested in everything—to notice, but Andrew did. He drew up next to her, unable to hide the smirk that grew across pale lips.

“Getting along, eh?”

“I… suppose.” Diana turned away to hide a blush, purposefully evading Akko’s watchful eyes as she contemplated her next move. She still had another ten minutes on the ice and, as she gazed over the smooth surface, over the one place that felt like home more than any other, she felt a swelling growing in her chest.

Akko hadn’t seen her skate in years. She hadn’t seen who she had become, what she had grown into, what she could  _ do _ .

Emboldened by the realization, she struck forward, the motion of her blades carrying her into a blinding speed. At the end zone she danced into a three-turn, her arms graceful and fluid with each effortless movement, before switching to a counter turn. She fell to the straight, skipping backwards on each blade, a dance to and fro that swiveled her body into another easy turn. She didn’t know what she was doing, altogether. An ad-hoc performance brought on by the inflated courage of being watched, by the out-of-character desire to show off.

Letting her body fall into the natural movements of a professional, she flew backwards, her blades slicing across smooth ice in a cross chasse that only served to build speed. She let her arms glide with the direction of her legs, carrying her through each move with ease.

Diana leaned forward and swiveled, twisting her torso and leaping into a double lutz that she landed with the smooth grace that she had once encompassed completely. A few strides, a change of direction, and a gliding hollow of her blade to send her spinning once more, this time her frame erect, her head lifted high, one hand reaching behind her to seek out the single lifted blade to pull up and back as she let her momentum fade.

“Damn, princess, get it!” she heard Amanda yell from the side of the arena.

It felt good to skate how she used to. To embrace the courage and the confidence, to forget the handicap that held her back from what she could once do. And for a single, blissful moment she forgot. She forgot the way her leg seized in the cold, she forgot the stiffness that made her entire body wobble in certain landings or not allow her to jump at all. She forgot the rods that held her together where strong, solid bone once did it for her, and it was just her and the ice and her body, free and careless.

And Akko… watching. Akko, there, like she had always hoped.

She carried through the edge of the arena, soaring on smooth blades and smoother ice and, letting compulsion take the lead, skipped a single blade onto an outer edge, let her arms spiral around until they came to a cross over her body, and leapt into an axel.

Her body spun. Once. Twice. Three times—three glorious times that she hadn’t been able to do since before she’d broken her leg—before landing.

Except her leg wasn’t quite ready, it wasn’t quite strong enough, and it buckled beneath her. Her body tumbled until her hips were striking the ice, legs spinning out in front of her as her gloves fell to the surface to break the fall. A fire of humiliation burst into her neck, her cheeks, and she stayed down for a moment just to avoid looking at anybody.

Especially Akko.

“Diana,” Andrew breathed, ice spraying from his skates as he skidded to a stop at her side. A single hand stretched forward. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she said, clenching her jaw. She dismissed his hand and instead clambered to her feet herself, feeling the weight of her own body making her leg seize with discomfort. “I think we should be done here.”

“Yeah.” Andrew frowned. “You looked good, though. Really good.”

She let her gaze flicker to meet his—eyes that held pity, which made her stifle anger that she held only for herself—and simply said, “Andrew, don’t.”

She pushed off. Away from him, away from the ice, gliding on her one good leg as she avoided the stares that she knew were on her. She shouldn’t have attempted that jump. A triple lutz was Olympic quality, a jump that she was not ready for and possibly would  _ never _ be ready for again, and to even attempt one was both careless and reckless.

The tips of her ears burned as she finally looked up, looked to where Akko had once been standing, but she was gone. And, at first, she’d thought Akko had left—out of embarrassment, maybe, or just plain disinterest—until she heard that familiar voice echoing, angry, throughout the arena: 

“Say it again. Say it again and I’ll bury this stick so far up your ass that Ovechkin will be using you for his next slapshot!”

Diana’s gaze swiveled to where the younger skaters were sitting in the stands as she grasped the side of the rink and slowly gimped off the ice. Akko stood in front of them, her hockey stick stretched threateningly out before her, as Amanda grasped the back of her jersey and was struggling to pull her back. Sucy was merely watching, one hand delicately covering a mouth that was clearly spread into a wide sneer.

“Hey!” Andrew shouted from behind her. “What’s going on here?”

Akko turned, crimson eyes flashing with anger. Her knuckles were white around her stick, dropping slightly as she glanced between Diana and Andrew. Her brunette hair waved around her shoulders as she twisted back to the girls.

“Nothing,” Amanda chimed, yanking hard on Akko and making her stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the next row of bleachers. “Just a minor disagreement, that’s all.”

“My fist’s about to disagree with their stupid, uptight faces,” Akko blurted. “Let me see one of  _ you _ get out there and do a jump like that.”

One of the girls shrank back. The other laughed, rising to meet Akko face-to-face. “Yeah? Give me a year and I’ll be landing quads and laughing at  _ all _ of you.”

All at once, Diana knew who she was… and what she was like. Chloe was a skater from Quebec—a year younger, but no less talented—and she came from enough money and power to accomplish whatever she pleased without having to raise a finger. “Akko,” she called out. “Stop.”

The hand not holding her stick was clenched into a tight fist. Akko’s jaw tightened as she squared off with Chloe, fiery red eyes burning into smug hazel. It wasn’t until a final, firm yank from Amanda pulled her back that she broke her gaze, broke her form, and merely retreated with a long breath through her nose.

Sucy merely turned and, through a series of chuckles, said, “Gonna get the ice. Throw her out there if you want. I’d love to mow a bitch over with the ‘boni.” She snickered, adding a, “Upakan yung gago,” before strutting off.

“C’mon, Akko,” Amanda urged, throwing an arm around her friend and guiding her away. “Let’s go chill in the locker room. Don’t have to deal with any of these,” she waved a hand in the air, “in there. We’ve got a practice to get ready for.”

Diana watched them go, watched them disappear down the long aisle between the bleachers that led to the locker rooms. Her leg throbbed with her failure, but her ego hurt more, and the fact that Akko didn’t even turn around and acknowledge her—

Well, that hurt the most.

* * *

Diana stared down at the wall of text that met her blurred vision, her fingers rolling a yellow highlighter that hadn’t touched paper in at least half an hour. It was difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept straying, kept finding other things to settle on that had nothing to do with her studies, that had nothing to do with Physiology. It helped that she was far beyond where she should have been based on the syllabus, but the inability to focus was something that she was unfamiliar with at best.

And the repeated swearing, cursing, and slamming coming from the shared living space of her and Akko’s dorm did  _ not _ help.

Angel was clawing at her door again. Her paws were slamming against the wood, desperate for Diana to stand up and open it and let her in. Diana wasn’t entirely sure why. She had never let Angel into her room before—a cat on her bed would mean a night of barely being able to breathe, more benadryl than she was comfortable with, and perpetual sneezing—and so entry had always been denied. She yowled loudly, sticking one desperate white paw underneath the door to bat upwards at the air.

“ _ Kuso! _ ”

Akko’s voice shrieked through the dorm, loud and echoing and distracting. With a final huff of exasperation, Diana let the highlighter fall from her hand and scooted back from her chair, careful to nudge Angel away with her foot as she slid through the opening of her bedroom door to see  _ what _ exactly was worthy of so much commotion.

Akko was spread across the floor, surrounded by tape and glue and God-only-knew-what-else, her pair of hockey skates lying in front of her. In one hand she clutched a hot glue gun, her index finger flexing back and forth on the trigger as her eyes narrowed at a blade that dangled, lifeless, from the sole of a torn and ripped boot.

“Akko?”

Akko grunted, lifting her eyes and frowning. “Diana,” she murmured, an acknowledgment more than a greeting. She lifted the glue gun for emphasis, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Do you know how to work this thing?”

She pressed down on the trigger and glue sprayed out, covering the carpet and part of the boot and laces that lay tangled alongside.

“Oops,” she murmured, eyes widening. “I guess it just needed to get warm.” She chuckled. “ _ Hot _ glue gun. Now I get it.”

Diana pinched the bridge of her nose, biting down on her lip as she considered just how much work it would be to get the glue out of the carpet later on. “Akko,” she breathed, watching Angel creep over to investigate. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Fixing my skates,” Akko said, scooting back so she was sitting on her knees. Torn duct tape littered the floor beside her, some of it stuck to the boot itself. “I have an away game in three days and my blade fell off.”

Diana knelt before her, careful to avoid the many hazardous items that her roommate had strewn everywhere, and gently picked up the single boot with the broken blade in her hands. She turned it slowly, wrapping her fingers around the blade and feeling it sway against her palm. Even the screw no longer held the front of the blade in place. The entire thing had torn away from the sole.

“Akko,” she started, frowning at just how much duct tape—old and new—had been wrapped around the sole and the foundation of the blade itself. “I don’t think you can fix these.”

“I have before,” Akko said. She swallowed hard as she looked up, scanning the boot with nervous eyes. “I can do it again. I just need something stronger than this stuff.”

“The blade is falling off,” Diana murmured. “There’s nothing you can do. If you try to skate on these, you’ll hurt yourself.” She narrowed her eyes, turning them over one last time before setting them down. “How long have you had these, anyway?”

“Five years,” Akko said without missing a beat. “They were my first skates.”

Diana rocked back on her heels, watching as Akko struggled with the hot glue gun to get the blade to stick back to the boot. Instead it merely fell away, connected only in long, thin strings that dried almost instantly. Akko let out a long, exasperated sigh, throwing the glue gun to the ground with a huff and burying her face in her hands.

“Why don’t you just buy a new pair?” Diana asked, confused as to why Akko was trying so hard to fix those particular skates. Perhaps they had sentimental value, but in that case she could still  _ keep _ them. “Five years is a pretty decent lifespan for a pair of skates you use every day.”

Akko lowered her hands, her bright eyes snapping up to meet Diana’s. “Do you know how much—” She cut herself off, one fist clenching at her side. Her lips pursed as she stared down at the broken skates as though they had betrayed her. “Sorry,” she murmured, rolling back to cross her legs in front of her. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just frustrated.”

“It’s alright,” Diana replied. She rose, meandering into the kitchen to begin pulling out fresh vegetables for supper. “I know how expensive they are. My boots and blades combined were almost 2 grand and that doesn’t include the customization that I requested.” She slapped a cucumber and romaine on the counter, shooing an inquisitive Angel with her foot. “Just consider it an investment that you won’t have to make again for a few years.”

“Yeah, but you’re—”

Akko’s nose wrinkled. She looked away. She didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to. Diana knew what she was going to say. She was going to point out that Diana was rich, that she came from old money and had plenty sitting around to drop on the best skates on the market.

And she wasn’t  _ wrong _ , but it didn’t take the sting out of it. It wasn’t as though she flaunted her money. Sure, she’d bought the gaming console and the VR equipment, but that was the first large purchase she’d made in a long time. She didn’t even own a vehicle—she rode public transportation to reduce her carbon footprint—and she rarely treated herself to new clothing and adamantly avoided the latest technology. Her laptop was old and slow, her phone was several models old, and her air pods had been bought on sale.

The only thing she spent her money on was skating.

She swallowed back a retort and instead pulled out a cutting board and knife, ignoring Akko as she began to clean up her mess.

“I’m making a salad,” she murmured, not looking up from her task as she began to chop. “Would you like one?”

“Um, no thanks,” Akko replied, her head peeking up from the other side of the counter with a handful of duct tape and dried, stringy glue. “That’s a lot of green stuff. And I, uh, have a gig tonight, and Last Wednesday usually gives me free dinner and drinks, so—”

Diana nodded. 

“You can, uh…” Akko stumbled to her feet, slamming her knee against the island wall with a loud, “Ouch!” She ran a hand through hair that was getting long again with the absence of a cut, scratching awkwardly at the back of her neck. “You can come, if you like.” She flashed a hopeful smile that twitched nervously. “There’s no cover. And I’ll play you a song.”

The knife in Diana’s hand hesitated as her grip loosened on the lettuce. Blood rushed to her ears along with the deafening hum of a fluttering heart. She slowly glanced up, trying desperately to hide the look of shock that sent chills coursing beneath her skin.

“I…” she trailed off, meeting Akko’s inquisitive gaze for a brief moment. She swallowed. “Sure,” she said after a moment, tightening her grip on the knife’s handle as her palm clammed up. “I’d… be happy to.”

Akko’s smile burst into a grin. She snatched her broken skates off the ground, stepping backwards and almost tripping over the glue gun she’d left on the ground. “Great,” she blurted, thumbing in the direction of her room. “We’re on at nine. I’ve got to go, uh, get ready, and stuff, so…” Her cheeks were as red as her eyes. “Yeah. Enjoy your rabbit food.”

Diana watched her go, completely forgetting the mess of tape and glue and pieces of sole that she’d left on the counter, and looked down at her half-chopped romaine. The hunger she’d felt only moments before was distant and instead a nervous energy thrummed in her gut as she finished chopping, merely shoving the lettuce and cucumber into a ziplock and placing it back into the fridge.

Angel hopped up on the counter, her tail flicking as she let out a rumbling chirp. Her whiskers perked forward as Diana reached out and ran a palm over her soft fur, holding back a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth before finally giving in. She scratched behind the little cat’s ears, chuckling to herself as Angel leaned into the touch, cocking her head to the side.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she mused to Angel, responding to a question that she’d posed in her own mind, and pulled her cell from her pocket to text Andrew.

* * *

“This place is  _ so _ cute!” Hannah blurted out as she and Diana stepped through the antique wooden doors into Last Wednesday Society. It was a small pub, far enough down Finch that they’d had to take an Uber, but not so far that the fare was pricey.

It was more like a hole in the wall, barely larger than the whole square footage of Diana and Akko’s dorm, and was riddled with strange metal decorations and obscure art that closed the gap of every tiny bit of empty blue wall. A taxidermied raccoon stood tall and proud in a corner, a rainbow of mardi gras beads hung around his neck, a tiny, hand-made beer bottle clutched in his little paw. Dim icicle lights hung above an old mahogany bar manned by a single bartender, who seemed calm despite the busy, the smile on his face never breaking as he served each patron as though he’d known them his whole life.

Narrow wooden stairs led to an upper balcony with a few extra stools, which a few people climbed through conversation and laughter to find a more secluded place than the busier downstairs.

The pub was trafficked, but not crowded. There were plenty of places to sit and it was easy to navigate without bumping into a stranger, and Diana immediately felt herself relaxing. This was not the type of college bar that she’d gone to the other week. No, this one seemed catered to locals, like a well-hidden gem in a busy north Toronto sect, its entrance tucked away down a narrow, brick-paved alley.

Akko’s band was setting up in the corner. She sat on a stool next to Avery, not looking up as her fingers danced over a guitar covered in stickers, her other hand occasionally reaching up to adjust the tuning. Amanda leaned against the wall behind her drumset, sipping a beer bottle and observing the milling patrons.

Her eyes fell on Hannah. Lingered.

Hannah had not been Diana’s first choice for a companion, but Andrew had already committed himself to a night with Frank and she wasn’t about to go alone. The only thing she could be grateful for was that Barbara was spending the weekend with her family and so she wouldn’t have to put up with the back-and-forth banter of the two best friends while she was trying to enjoy herself.

Akko looked up from a hard strum that jarred, echoing, into the air, and met Diana’s gaze. She did not lift a hand to return Diana’s wave, but smiled nonetheless, and it held as she looked back down to her guitar to continue tuning.

“I need a drink,” Hannah said over the din of multiple conversations flowing together, grasping the tips of Diana’s fingers and pulling her towards the bar. “It’s been a hell of a week. Do you know what it’s like being paired with—”

Hazel eyes fell on the short, strawberry-blonde haired girl sitting at the bar next to Sucy.

“Oh,” she said, her voice switching gears from begrudging to chipper. “Hi, Lotte.”

Lotte swiveled on her stool, a broad smile spreading across her freckled face. She pushed her thick glasses further up her nose. “Hi, Hannah.” Her eyes flickered over to the band, to the tall red-head that looked lackadaisical more than anything else. “What, uh… what are you doing here?”

“Just out with Diana.” She thumbed to Diana, who offered a meek smile and a timid wave in response. She barely knew these people—they were merely faces she recognized—and small talk was something she certainly was not good at. She thought about the prescription of Xanax that she’d left in the drawer of her nightstand and regretted not at least putting a pill in her pocket, though the harmful effects of drinking on a benzodiazepine would have still deterred her from taking it.

“Hello,” she said stiffly, shoving her hands into her leather jacket and nodding.

“Would you like to sit with us?” Lotte asked, motioning to the empty stools to either side of her and Sucy, who was regarding Hannah and Diana with a disinterested stare. “The more the merrier.”

Well, they  _ were _ the only stools at the bar left. Hannah immediately slid into the seat next to Lotte. Diana met Sucy’s gaze, blinked back at the sneer that met her, and slowly lowered herself to the stool alongside the strange, lavender-haired Zamboni driver.

The barkeep sauntered over, flashing a welcoming smile to both Hannah and Diana. He went to Hannah first, taking an order that Diana couldn’t hear through the space between them, before leaning over to her.

“For you, friend?”

“I, uh—” Diana glanced at the options. A full shelf of liquor, about a dozen taps of local beer from Steamwhistle to Mill Street. “Scotch, please. Neat.”

“You must not be from here, eh?” he asked, motioning to the variety of scotch lit up with bright LED lights. “Any particular choice?”

Diana chose not to respond to his comment, not wanting to explain that she was from England but grew up in Canada only to go  _ back _ to England, and instead offered a terse smile. “Macallan.”

His thick eyebrows raised a little as he twisted a clean bar cloth in meaty hands. “That’s taste that doesn’t step through those doors often,” he murmured as he turned to prepare the drinks.

“Did you know Bruce McArthur was a regular here?” Sucy said, turning to Diana with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Pretty sure that was his go-to drink.”

“I’m sorry?” Diana replied, cocking her head in confusion. She smiled and nodded a polite thank you to the barkeep as he placed her drink in front of her before motioning to Hannah. “She’s on my tab, as well.”

“Got it,” he replied with a wink before moving off down the bar.

“Bruce McArthur,” Sucy repeated, wrapping her hands around a nearly full pint of beer. “The serial killer.”

“I—”

“Sucy,” Lotte hissed, turning on her stool to swat Sucy’s shoulder. “What did I tell you about going off about murderers in casual conversation? It’s off limits!” She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “And he did not come here. Don’t listen to her.”

“That’s alright,” Diana replied. She took a small sip of her scotch, letting it roll over her tongue and palate, before swallowing. “My father served on the defense team of Peter Sutcliffe, if you know who that is.”

Sucy’s single exposed eye widened. She swiveled, her lips parting as she stared at Diana with something between shock and disbelief. “The Yorkshire Ripper? Your  _ father _ knew him? God, I would shank an  _ infant _ to meet him.”

“He’s passed,” Diana replied, though she couldn’t help but smile at Sucy’s reaction. That little fact about her father—a man she never knew—was always a fun fact that she liked to present when the opportunity struck. As a highly respected defense attorney, he had represented his fair share of notorious killers.

“I meant Sutcliffe,” Sucy said, shrugging. “But, that’s a bummer.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. In all respects, Sucy was creepy, and navigating that kind of personality was something that Diana was not familiar with. But, luckily for her, the barkeep’s booming voice broke through blurred sounds of people enjoying a weekend evening.

“I’d like everyone to welcome Fountain of Polaris,” he shouted, clapping his thick hands together and pointing to Akko, Avery, Amanda, and Constanze. “Though you all know them, because they’re my favorite musical dorks in all of Toronto.”

Diana glanced to Akko, surprised to find her looking back. Akko smiled once more, looking down and away as she tossed the strap of her guitar over her shoulder and shrank back. She was in a pair of jeans, her old, beat-up converse, and a short-sleeved Luna Nova Women’s Hockey shirt that hugged a toned and muscled body. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, her bangs askew across forehead already damp with sweat.

Even as the band came to life, as Avery clutched the microphone and began to sing, as Amanda jammed a rhythm that matched her own vibrant personality on her drumset, as Constanze’s dark eyes fell to her keyboard and keyed a melody to a song Diana didn’t recognize, her attention didn’t stray.

Her eyes stayed locked on Akko as she focused her attention to her guitar and the dance of trained fingers, on the hand that skimmed the neck of the instrument with each new chord, at the off-kilter smirk that painted across her face and the occasional toss of her head to clear her sweat-damped bangs from her eyes.

She thought about the girl who, five years before, laughed at her inability to even grasp a strumming pattern.

That girl was gone. Born into the young woman across the room who spewed confidence, who emanated self-reliance, who embraced a difficult situation and conquered it.

Who looked up, her fingers never faltering, and met Diana’s stare with a smile of her own.

* * *

“Akko, you good for it?” Avery asked, her voice catching through the microphone as she turned to the guitarist who nodded a response.

Avery smirked, turning back to the microphone and lifting a bottle of water to her lips. “You can listen to Akko now. She’s not as good a singer as I am, but she tries hard, so let’s be kind, eh?”

Muted laughter filtered through the pub. Diana brought her second scotch to her lips and sipped, eyes trained on Akko as she gave Avery a playful shove and took her place behind the mic.

“I’d like everybody to know I sing much better than Constanze here.” Akko jerked her thumb at the keyboardist. Constanze responded with a middle finger before grinning and looking away.

“I don’t get it,” Diana murmured.

“Cons is mute,” Lotte answered.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

“7 Hours?” Akko asked, turning to Avery. Avery nodded, adjusting the other mic as she settled in next to Akko.

Red eyes lifted, found where Diana was sitting. But Akko didn’t smile, didn’t acknowledge her in any other way, and instead her hands fell to her guitar, adjusting the capo before taking a long breath and looking back down.

But she didn’t strum. No, she began to pick, her fingers dancing over the strings with practiced ease. It was different from what they usually played, which were covers of popular rock or pop songs broken by the occasional original.

Her eyes fell shut as her deep, scratchy voice lifted over the quieted bar in a quick, effortless rhythm.

_ I think it’s time to let you know just how deep the ocean goes. _

_ Water falls and overflows tears grown on the long road home. _

_ Goodbyes arrive and mountains hide, _

_ Long since drowning people dry. _

Avery’s voice fell in beside her, hands wrapping around the mic stand, a quiet and high-pitched back up. They sounded well together and Diana couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that stabbed at her gut.

_ I like to think you’ll take it well, free me from my prison cell. _

_ Or join me there and finally tell the secrets that you’ve kept around. _

_ When brothers fight and blood is spilled, _

_ no one stays to see the kill. _

Akko’s foot fell into rhythm, her eyes fluttering open as the confidence in her own voice, in her own talents, grew.

And Diana watched.

_ ‘Cause I’m still in love with an angel. _

_ She won’t let me in her head or her heart now, _

_ So far away from the place where we were 5 years ago. _

Avery’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she shot a sideways glance at Akko, her voice faltering the slightest bit before picking up once more. But Akko ignored her, continuing on as her fingers fell together and began to strum an upbeat rhythm that Diana found herself getting into.

_ I’d sail across the ocean blue, _

_ Walk fire and brimstone just for you _

_ To speak those three words loud and clear, _

_ Speak away this cloud of fear. _

_ Shadows fall and sun shines through all the way to me and you. _

_ You’re brighter than the northern star, _

_ Lead me forward, wanderer. _

_ Away from men and water, I drink you instead, the rich man’s daughter. _

_ Freezing winters out all day will carry you away. _

Avery was full on glaring at Akko now, her displeasure written all over her face as she stared at the girl who paid her no mind. Akko leaned into the mic, grinning to herself as she carried on.

_ ‘Cause I’m still in love with an angel. _

_ She won’t let me in her head or her heart now, _

_ So far away from the place where we were 5 years ago. _

Akko’s chin tilted up, her tongue wetting her lips as her strumming softened. Her eyes fell on Diana who froze under the intense stare, the grip on her glass tightening as Akko’s lips parted once more and the lyrics dripped out. Quieter, softer, focused.

On her?

_ ‘Cause I’m still in love with an angel. _

_ She won’t let me in her head or her heart now, _

_ So far away from the place where we were _

_ 5 years ago. _

Her last strum faded into the air just as Avery stepped back from the mic, an inaudible snap directed at Akko as she stormed off. Amanda, wide-eyed, simply stared after her, lowering her drumsticks and letting them fall to the ground as she glanced between Akko, Constanze, and the back of Avery’s head.

“So, uh, we’re Fountain of Polaris,” Amanda chirped up from behind the drumset. “We don’t have an EP yet, but if you want a private concert and you’re a hot red-head—” A grin as flickering eyes fell to where Hannah sat. “Feel free to hit me up.” She cleared her throat, lowering her voice as she mumbled a quick, “Ladies only,” into the mic before stepping off stage.

Hannah just stared. Lotte turned back to the bar, finishing off the last of her beer and shoving the pint forward to nod quietly at the barkeep for a new pour.

“You can’t just change the lyrics,” Diana overhead Avery growling from the other end of the bar as Akko moved her guitar to her back and leaned over the chipped and broken mahogany, winking at the barkeep, who threw her a thumbs up, tossing his towel over his shoulder to turn to the beer taps. “That was fucked up and we all know why you did it.”

Akko turned, said something Diana couldn’t quite hear, and pulled her ponytail from its holder. Damp hair fell around her shoulders and she ran her fingers through it, tousling it to the side in a way that made Diana swallow and look away, turning to the lacquered bar and staring pointedly into her half-full scotch.

“Whatever, Akko,” Avery grumbled, stalking off.

“What’s up with Avery?” Lotte asked when Akko strutted over, a full pint of lager sloshing over her hand.

Akko shrugged, brought her beer to her lips and sipped. “Nothing she won’t get over,” she replied, her voice showing no hint of emotion. Her eyes flicked to Diana before returning to Lotte and Sucy before finally falling on Hannah.

“Oh, uh…” She smiled nervously. “Hannah, right?”

“Yeah,” Hannah replied. “We went to school together, remember?”

“Yeah,” Akko said, her smile falling quickly, venom dripping from her voice as she leveled a distasteful stare at her once-bully and sipped her beer again. “I remember.”

“Right.” Hannah nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she looked down at her own gin and tonic. “I suppose I owe you an apology for how I treated you then, eh?” She chuckled nervously. “But you sounded really good. I like your voice.”

“Yeah, she can definitely hold a tune when she wants to.”

Amanda snaked an arm around Akko’s shoulder and gave her a firm shake, grinning. “Fancy meeting you here,” she murmured to Hannah. “Came to see the talk of the town?”

“Hardly,” Hannah scoffed. “Just here with Diana.”

“You did really good, Amanda,” Lotte chimed in with a soft, timid voice from beside the fiery figure skater. A blush bloomed in her cheeks as she looked down at her beer. “I mean, all of you sounded good.”

“Aw, thanks, shortcake,” Amanda chirped, reaching out to ruffle Lotte’s short hair. “Get your next beer for you?” Her voice lifted as she turned her attention to the bartender. “I’ve got an extra one on my tab tonight for this cutie, right Wayne?”

The barkeep—Wayne—regarded Amanda with narrowed eyes, his smile growing wider. “‘Suppose I can throw in an extra one for my favorite drummer. Keg’s about to kick, anyway.”

The flames in Lotte’s face could have melted the snow outside.

“What about me?” Sucy grumbled, raising her own nearly empty pint glass. “How are you going to play favorites?”

“I’ve got you, Suce,” Akko said, nudging her friend with her shoulder, though her eyes had turned to Diana. A smile cricked at the corner of her lips. “Hey, Diana.”

Diana squeezed her glass tighter, letting the waves of her hair cascade around her face as she looked down to try to hide the cherry blush that blossomed in her cheeks. “Hi.”

“Did you, um…” Akko shifted, one hand finding the nylon strap of her guitar, the other clutching her beer. “Did you like it?”

Diana swallowed. Nodded. She felt stupid for not knowing what to say, but what was there  _ to _ say? Your voice gave me the chills? You look so bloody attractive standing up there that I couldn’t even pull my eyes away?

Of course she wasn’t going to say  _ any _ of that, so instead she just settled with, “Yes. You sounded wonderful.”

“I, uh, don’t usually sing. I’m not very good, but—”

“You sounded fine, Akko.”

Akko looked away. “I’d offer to get you a drink, but Wayne only gives us beer.” She frowned, looking down at the few notes that stuck from her front pocket. “And I’m kind of saving for new skates.”

“Akko, I can afford my own drinks,” Diana pointed out, polishing off her scotch and gesturing for another just to make a point. “And I’m just here to support you.”

A timid smile crept across Akko’s chapped lips. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Means a lot.”

“Hey, Akko!” Jasminka stumbled out of another group, slamming a heavy hand down on Akko’s shoulder, grinning. “Didn’t know you could go all folk on us! Sounded awesome.”

Akko chuckled, swaying beneath the hard slap. “Thanks, Jas.”

Diana felt silly, out of place. She didn’t know what to do or say and Hannah was too far away to crutch on. Instead she took her new drink. The scotch warmed her but did not make her bold enough to cement a place in a conversation where she felt like so much of an outsider.

“Did you know Diana’s dad knew a serial killer?” Sucy blurted to Akko, a maniacal grin sprouting on her pale face. “How dope is that?”

“I, uh, did, actually,” Akko replied. Her eyes shifted between Sucy and Diana and she brought her beer to her lips once more, her hair falling, stringy and damp, around a flushed face.

“Oh, right,” Sucy said, tossing a hand dismissively in the air. “Forgot you guys were best friends or some weird shit. Hey, Amanda, did you know that Diana’s—”

Her voice fell away as Akko stepped in closer, effectively shutting Diana off from the others so it was just the two of them, even if they were surrounded by Akko’s friends. “Sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I might have mentioned it to them.”

“That’s quite alright,” Diana replied. “I think I would be more upset if you kept it a secret.”

“Yeah?”

Diana nodded. She felt a lump lifting into her throat and she looked down, ran her fingernails nervously down the fabric of her jeans. “I’d like to think that we were important to each other at some point,” she said, almost more to herself than Akko, but Akko replied nonetheless.

“Do you think…” she trailed off, her knuckles white as she gripped her guitar strap harder. “Do you think we can’t still be?”

Diana looked up. She met Akko’s searching eyes—eyes that held hope, worry, a tinge of sadness—and chewed at her bottom lip. The realization that Akko was putting herself out there, baring the most fragile part of herself and everything between them, was not lost on Diana. She rolled her glass in her hands and opened her mouth to reply, even if she didn’t know altogether  _ what _ to say, but Avery’s hand slamming down on Akko’s shoulder and yanking her roughly to the side abruptly ended any plans for a response.

“Akko,” Avery said forcefully, jerking a thumb over her shoulder and towards the back of the bar. “Wayne needs you. He’s got our pay.”

“Um.” Akko glanced between Diana and Avery, her brows furrowing in irritation. “I’m kinda busy, Ave. Can’t you?”

“No,” Avery snapped. “He’ll only give it to you.”

“Oh. That’s weird.” Akko shifted, reaching between Diana and Sucy to place her partially consumed beer on the bar. She offered Diana one last uncertain look before adding a, “Be back in a bit,” and turning to push her way through the growing crowd of patrons.

Avery moved in hard, fast. Diana felt herself shrink back, her shoulders striking the rounded edge of the lacquered wooden bar as the other girl enclosed on her personal space.

“She’s stuck on you,” Avery muttered, narrowing her eyes, her lips tightening. “She’s stuck on you and I don’t know why, Cavendish, but I’m not about to let you hurt her again.”

“I… pardon?” Diana choked out.

“Living it up in your fancy mansion in England without a care in the world except yourself. Now you come back, and, what?” The corner of Avery’s nose twitched in anger. “You find her here ripe for use again? Find new ways to ruin her life?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Diana replied, feeling herself growing irritated with the accusations and the very unwarranted attack. “I would never—”

“So, what, then? You left her to the streets while you slept on your own money and didn’t even have the balls to write her a single letter?”

Hot fear rushed through Diana’s body and she felt the color draining from her face. She lowered her scotch, eyebrows twitching with confusion as she stared into Avery’s flickering eyes. “What?” she breathed.

“Oh, so she didn’t tell you? Of course not.” Avery forced a chuckle and leaned back, folding her arms threateningly over her chest. “Because she was always too good for you. Probably didn’t want to blame you. Yeah, her parents kicked her out because of you. Lucky for her, mine took her in after she’d been couch surfing a while.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Diana as though she was Judas himself. “She worked hard to get where she is. And if I was her?”

Avery leaned in closer until her breath tickled Diana’s cheek, her ear, her hair. “If I was Akko, I would tell you to hike your sorry ass back across the Atlantic, if your bum leg can even carry you that far.”

Diana turned, wide eyes finding Akko at the end of the bar. She was grinning up at Wayne, clapping her smaller hand into his and laughing about something between the two of them.

She didn’t know.

She  _ hadn’t  _ known _. _

She lifted her glass, her hand quivering hard, shaking mercilessly under the realization of everything she had not known,  _ could not  _ have known. Her grip loosened and the glass tipped, spilling expensive scotch that coursed a river over the bar, sinking into old rivets and scratches, until it dripped slowly from the edge and onto her thighs, and all the time her eyes never left Akko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `HONEYWATER - 7 HOURS AGO`
> 
> i would like to point out that as of this post, peter sutcliffe is dead as of november 2020. however, since this story is still currently in late september/october 2020, i did not reference this.
> 
> also, thanks for your continued support of this story! it's fun to write etc. and this chapter turned out [much] longer than i had planned but that's good 'cause i struggled to get started.
> 
> if there's typos or whatever, it's nugget.


	12. Thin Ice

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

THIN ICE

* * *

_ AKKO _

* * *

Her eyes never left Diana as she soared around the rink, her blades slicing in rapid succession over the ice. The way she moved—graceful, effortless,  _ beautiful _ —was something like Akko had never seen before. Sure, she’d watched figure skating on occasion. It was hard not to as a hockey player when they swarmed the rink during free periods as though the ice was theirs alone, or those late nights when Okaa-san used to glue herself to the television to watch the Olympic skaters.

But Diana was something else.

“You’re drooling,” Amanda joked, digging a sharp elbow into Akko’s side. Akko merely shot a sideways glare at her, stamping the bottom of her stick down on Amanda’s sneakers and huffing.

“I don’t even get why I have to clean the ice after this,” Sucy moaned, crossing her arms over the side of the rink and burying her face in her sweater. “You guys are just going to Edward Scissorhands it anyway.”

“I’m not drooling,” Akko mumbled, pointedly looking away from Amanda as her gaze followed Diana. Her blonde hair whipped across her pale face as she spun in place, the muscles of her legs flexing beneath her thin black tights as she grasped her blade and pulled it up. “She just looks really good.”

“Sure, sure.” Amanda snickered, shoving Akko’s stick away. “She is pretty awesome. Too bad about her leg. Wonder where she’d be if that hadn’t happened. Probably have a gold medal somewhere.”

Probably, but Akko didn’t want to think about that. She was not happy that Diana had hurt herself, especially to a point where she would likely never compete at such a high level again, but if it hadn’t happened… well, Diana would not be there. She wouldn’t be in Toronto, wouldn’t be going to Luna Nova, and Akko would never have seen her again.

Which could have been a good thing. Akko wasn’t sure yet.

Diana skimmed over the ice, her legs flying in easy crossovers before she whirled, leaping high into the air, her arms twisting and coming in tight to her body as she spun with ease, her skates crossed and holding.

But when she came down for the landing, her bad leg wobbled hard and went out from under her, sending her spiraling to the ground in a slow-motion fall.

“Ouch,” Amanda murmured, shrinking back as a grimace flashed across her lips. “Was a tight jump, though.”

Muffled laughter erupted from the bleachers near them and Akko’s gaze flashed over just in time to see a snobby looking girl say, “What a has-been.”

She didn’t even think. Red hot anger flared inside of her and in an instant she was stomping over, her stick clutched high above her head as she rounded on the two girls, teeth grinding together as they turned, in unison, to look at her.

“Say it again,” Akko demanded, her nose curling with distaste as her fingers clenched harder around her stick. “Say it again and I’ll bury this stick so far up your ass that Ovechkin will be using you for his next slapshot.”

She felt Amanda’s fingers closing around her jersey, pulling her back, but Akko held fast. “Akko, don’t,” she said. “They’re not worth it and you’ll get a suspension.”

“Aw, what? Did we insult your little crush?” the girl spat back, sneering. “Go back to your nasty locker room. You smell like rotten sweat.”

“Hey!”

Andrew’s voice boomed through the arena as he skated over. Diana was still clambering back to her feet, dusting the ice off her side as her eyes followed the commotion.

“What’s going on here?”

His dark brown hair tousled over the side of his forehead as he glared up at the girls, gloved hands coming to rest on the wall as he took in Akko hovering threateningly over the two junior skaters who seemed entirely unperturbed.

“Nothing,” Amanda shot back. Akko knew she was trying to diffuse the situation to the best of her ability, but she didn’t care. This girl deserved a puck to the teeth. She pulled hard on Akko’s jersey once more, her strength winning for a moment as they both tripped backwards. “Just a minor disagreement,” Amanda breathed. “That’s all.”

Akko’s eyes narrowed as she pulled forward once more, her shoulders struggling to shake off her friend’s firm grasp. “My fist’s about to disagree with their stupid, uptight faces,” she spat, growing angrier by the laughter that was meeting her halfway. “Let me see one of you get out there and do a jump like that!” She raised her stick again, making one of the girls lean back against the bleachers behind her, but the other merely laughed harder, rising to smirk right into Akko’s face.

“Yeah?” she replied, one hand closing over her hip. “Give me a year and I’ll be landing quads and laughing at  _ all  _ of you.”

Akko strained forward, her stick waving wildly in her hand as she struggled to break free from Amanda, determined hell and high water to at least give the girl a bruise to think about when she looked at her stupid face later. And she might have broken free, too, if a soft voice hadn’t rang out from the ice.

“Akko.”

She froze, breathing hard and fast as her mind held onto the familiar voice. Her gaze was locked with the other girl’s, staring her down, ready to lunge forward with the next opportunity.

“Stop.”

Her split-second hesitation was enough for Amanda to gain the upper hand, getting a firm grasp on her jersey and yanking back with all her might. Akko fell back into her, expelling a long breath through her nose as her back struck Amanda’s front and she stumbled down a step.

“... go chill in the locker room,” she heard Amanda blurt, barely registering what she was saying with the crimson that glazed her vision, focusing in on the girl who was still laughing like it was the funniest thing on the planet. “...got a practice to get ready for.”

She didn’t look back as Amanda pulled her down the narrow hall towards the locker rooms, clinging hard to the fabric of her jersey as though letting go meant she would break free—and, hell, maybe she would—until they were safely behind the doors and away from everything. Constanze and Jasminka looked up from where they were sitting on one of the nearest benches, eyes flickering from Akko’s bright red face to Amanda desperately trying to calm her down. They were confused, and, well, it made sense. Usually it was the other way around.

“Sit down,” Amanda muttered, not giving Akko an option as she tossed her down next to Constanze. “You’ve got to chill, alright? You can’t go knight in shining armor at every twerp that makes some snobby comment about Diana. What if Nelson had seen you? You’d be benched for the next three games.”

Akko leaned her stick against the bench next to her, closing her palms around her knees and leaning forward with a sigh. Amanda had a point, but what that girl had said was just  _ wrong _ . Diana was an amazing figure skater. Even with a handicap, she was  _ still _ better than anybody Akko had ever seen.

“You say that, but you act the same way about Lotte,” Akko grumbled, eyes turning up from beneath tousled bangs to meet Amanda’s. “You freak out if anybody says anything mean about her.”

“Yeah, well—” Amanda faltered, crossing her arms and stepping back to lean against the concrete wall next to the lockers. “Lotte’s too shy to stick up for herself, alright? Diana’s so rich and influential she could probably call down an airstrike on somebody if she wanted to.”

Akko huffed. Frowned. “Doesn’t mean that nobody else can speak up for her,” she replied.

“Has a point,” Jas piped up, shrugging. “It’s always nice to have somebody on your side.”

“Yeah, but where was ice princess when Akko needed her most?” Amanda snapped back. She pushed herself off the wall with a heel. “She could’ve flown over in an instant and taken her back if they were such good friends. Or, hell, put her up in an apartment or something.”

“That wasn’t her responsibility,” Akko retorted, nose wrinkling as she looked down, watching her fingers tighten over her knees. She hated having her circumstances brought up—after all, they were behind her now, weren’t they?—and even more when they expected somebody to just sweep in and take care of her.

She had done a pretty fine job of taking care of herself. Well, with the help of Avery’s parents, but still. She hadn’t needed Diana’s money, or Diana’s help, or  _ Diana. _

“I’m sorry, but if Lotte wrote me and told me that her parents had kicked her out and she was living on the streets and not knowing where her next meal was coming from, and I had the means, I’d fucking fly—fuck, man, I’d  _ run _ —from wherever I was. I wouldn’t give a fuck if I was on the god-damned moon.” She reached up, tousled her bright red hair. “And she should have done the same. So risking Captain status over ‘defending her honor’,” Amanda air-quoted, “is fucking stupid, Akko.”

“And you say you don’t like Lotte,” Akko grumbled, kicking the toe of her converse into the floor.

“Can we please not get into that again?” Amanda groaned, burying a reddening face in her hand. “She’s one of my best friends, Akko. I’m not trying to ruin that by doing something stupid like hooking up with her.”

Akko blinked up, felt the blood rush from her face. A chill ran up her spine as she stared at Amanda, took in the words that had just fallen from her lips, and choked down a swallow. Her palms felt clammy against her knees and she swiped at her jeans, struggling to ground herself as the impact of what her friend said smacked her right in the face.

“Oh, shit…” Amanda breathed, her eyes widening as she stared back at Akko, her lips parting with realization, with sudden understanding. “Did you…”

Akko looked away, tried to slow the way her heart hammered a four four beat in her chest, and let her teeth close around her healing lip until she felt the metallic taste of blood flood into her mouth. Jasminka and Constanze merely blinked back and forth between the two. Not understanding, not realizing.

But Amanda—

Amanda knew,

And her friend could say was a very well-versed, eloquent, and exceptionally phrased, “Fuck, Akko.”

* * *

Akko stared at the empty stool that once held Diana, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she glanced between her actively chatting friends. “Uh, Suce,” she said, tapping her friend gently on the shoulder. “Did Diana go to the washroom or something?”

“I dunno,” Sucy grumbled, tossing Akko’s hand away with a roll of her shoulders. “I’m not her keeper.”

Akko turned back to the bar. Her beer was still there, right where she put it, but Diana’s glass was gone and Wayne was wiping down the empty expanse of the bar.

“‘Manda,” Akko said, turning quickly, cutting her friend off mid-laugh with Hannah. “Where’s Diana?”

“Oh, she settled up and headed out a minute ago,” Hannah said, letting her drink fall from her lips and cocking her head. “Something about not feeling well. I dunno. Why?”

“Kuso,” Akko hissed. Her heart lodged in her throat as she spun on her heels, her sweaty hair whipping against her neck and cheek as she turned, faces and people and words blurring together as she searched the bar, her hand clutching the strap of her guitar as though it was her lifeline, as though it was the only thing holding her down.

And then her eyes fell on Avery, and suddenly everything made sense.

She rounded on her friend fast, her hand reaching out on instinct to seize Avery’s upper arm, interrupting whatever conversation she was having with Jasminka and a crowd of people she didn’t recognize.

“Ave,” she blurted, her voice rising over the run-of-the-mill Spotify playlist that Wayne had turned on, over the heightening volume of chatter and laughter. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” Avery raised an eyebrow, jerking her arm from Akko’s grasp. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Diana,” Akko breathed, her jaw clenching in anger and confusion and the overwhelming urge to take off running. “What did you say to her?”

“Told her to leave you alone,” Avery said, shrugging. “Somebody had to. She ruined your life, Akko. She—”

But Akko wasn’t listening anymore. Her hand left Avery’s arm and she was shoving her way through people, not even bothering to apologize as she stumbled around them, feeling her guitar banging against bodies and objects but not caring. Somebody shouted after her but she didn’t know who—hell, she didn’t care who—because she was already snagging the loose doorknobs of the pub and bursting into the frigid night air, not even caring that she was only wearing a t-shirt, not even caring that the worn soles of her converse were slipping on ice and caked snow.

Air burst from her lips in a cloud as she glanced back and forth down the street, skipping between each round glow of light from dim lamps, her lungs constricting painfully with the cold that flooded in with each anxious breath. She saw some people walking down the street, rushing to escape the freezing Canadian autumn, but none of them were Diana.

She pulled her phone from her back pocket, her fingers quivering uncontrollably as she pulled up Diana’s contact and hastily typed out a message.

_ AK: Come back. Please? I’m outside. _

She waited a moment, cursing into the air as she lowered her phone before bringing it back up in a rush, impatient for a response that wasn’t even there, that probably wouldn’t even come, because who knew what Avery had said? Probably something horrible, probably something that made her think the worst of Akko, and the constricting, suffocating feeling of having to fix things, of having to make it  _ right _ , consumed her in a wildfire of fear.

“Akko.”

The sounds of Last Wednesday filtered into the night air, muting after a moment with the slamming of the wooden door, and Amanda’s voice broke out from behind her.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I—I’ve got to get home,” Akko stammered, her teeth clacking together as shivers wracked her body. She pulled up her Uber app and, with a shaking finger that barely hit its target, sent for a ride. “I think Avery said something stupid to Diana and she left and—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Amanda lifted her hands up in front of her, nearly slipping in the ice as she approached her friend. “I don’t think Avery would do anything to hurt you or Diana on purpose. She was probably just looking out for you, dude. Fuck, I’d like to tell that girl a thing or two—”

Akko clenched her jaw, slipping and barely catching herself as she whirled to face Amanda. Anger lit her eyes as she found Amanda’s concerned stare. “Neither of you have  _ any  _ right to get involved in  _ anything _ that happened between us,” she snapped, her fist clenching at her side. “That’s between me and Diana and no one else. It’s not Diana’s fault that my parents are asses, and it’s not Diana’s fault that she had to go, and it’s not Diana’s fault that I—that we—” Tears strung the corners of her eyes as she shrank back, her throat restricting as she took a shuddering breath. “Life isn’t a fairytale, Amanda,” she spat out. Looking away, looking down. “And I’m not jaded or stupid enough to think this is fate or, you know, whatever. But she’s back anyway and this is… this is my fight, not yours, not Avery’s, not anyone else’s, and why don’t you just—” Her head was throbbing, actively protesting her anger, her anxiety. “Just go away and let me handle this!”

“I—”

Amanda stepped back, her eyes darting away from Akko and down the street where Akko’s ride was rounding the block and slowly approaching.

“I’ll, uh, grab all your stuff for you. Do you want me to take your guitar before you—”

But Akko was already darting across the sidewalk, slipping and sliding as she grasped the rear door to her ride. The neck of her guitar smacked against the roof of the small sedan, strings screeching angrily into the quiet night, but it was already dinged up enough and Akko’s inflamed adrenaline didn’t give her a wide enough berth to care.

She didn’t care because she had to get to Diana, to fix whatever Avery did, to fix whatever she  _ could _ fix, because she was tired of other people making her problems their own, tired of people looking out for her like she was some glass doll, like she couldn’t take care of herself.

Because if life had taught her anything in the past five years, it was that she very much could.

* * *

And I’d give up forever to touch you,

‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,

And I don’t want to go home right now.

_ Akko dug the toes of her grey converse into the stone, leaning over her guitar and staring intently at the strings as she concentrated intently on where her fingers went. On her strumming pattern, on pressing the pads of her fingers on just the right place of each fret with each new chord, on making sure she sang at just the right time and not a second too soon or a second too late. She was getting better, really, but meals were starting to depend on it, and she had no choice but to practice all day long. _

_ Tourists—Western Canadian, American, European, Asian—strode merrily through the small park, exploring Old Toronto with wide eyes and, Akko hoped, even wider wallets. She focused intently on the song, one of the first ones she’d learned for the ease of switching chords and a strumming pattern she could maintain while singing, and hoped it was enough to at least earn the ears of lackadaisical passersby. _

_ So far she’d gotten a loonie, a couple dimes, and a proposition for a date—from, like, a 30 year old, if that wasn’t creepy enough to begin with—but the early afternoon sun held promise as the heat intensified along with the traffic of pedestrians. _

And all I can taste is this moment.

And all I can breathe is your life.

And sooner or later, it’s over.

I just don’t want to miss you tonight.

_ A young girl tugged on the leg of her father’s jeans, motioning to Akko before holding out a hand. He looked up, regarding Akko for a moment before fishing a wallet from his pocket and slipping her a bill. She skipped forward, grinning up at Akko as she dropped a blue note into the body of the guitar case. She stood for a moment, watching as Akko faltered in her strumming for a moment to stare at the five she’d just been given before carrying on, barely managing an awkward wink and a genuine smile at the girl as she picked back up where she left off. _

_ “Lily,” her mother called, waving to the small girl. “Come along.” _

_ Another girl clutched their mother’s other hand, staring curiously at her sister, at the young guitarist, her wavy blonde hair shifting in the gentle breeze that flowed in from the nearby coast. She reminded Akko of Diana the day she had met her so long ago in that school cafeteria and she had to grit her teeth as the younger girl flounced away and the family disappeared down the sidewalk. _

And I don’t want the world to see me,

‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.

When everything’s meant to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am.

_ It had been three months since Otou-san threw her guitar case and a small suitcase with some clothes and a little bit of money into the small front lawn of their townhome and told her to get out. She had begged, she had cried, she had shivered through the night hoping that they might change their mind, that they’d open that door and let her back into her home. _

_ It wasn’t until the next morning, as fog rolled through the streets of her quiet neighborhood, as birds came to life in the bitter spring air, that Okaa-san opened the door. She didn’t look at Akko. who had stood quickly, expectantly, and instead set her new pair of hockey skates on the welcome mat to their home and disappeared back inside, the lock clicking behind her. _

_ She knew this had been a possibility if her parents had found out about her sexuality. They were traditional, embracing the values of their ancestors, and Akko had always been expected to fulfill the normal role of a Japanese woman—to marry into submission, to carry on in the dimming light of the generations before her—and, to them, being gay was as much of a betrayal as she could possibly commit without murder itself. _

_ And, as careful as she had been, she had slipped up. She had fallen asleep with a partially written letter to Diana still on her desk in those first days when her best friend had left, had forgotten about it until later, when Okaa-san was cleaning her room and found it, read it. _

_ That was the beginning of the end. _

_ Akko had stepped forward, had grabbed her skates by the laces. She’d had to beg Otou-san to even let her get them, to even let her sign up for the local hockey league. _

_ “Why can’t you just figure skate like Diana?” Okaa-san had asked when Akko was trying to appeal to them. “That’s much more feminine, Atsuko.” _

_ But Akko wanted to play hockey because it looked fun, because it looked like a sport that was much more her style, and just being on the ice reminded her of Diana, made her feel like maybe they had something still connecting them. Every time she stepped onto the ice she thought of Diana and she felt the warm embrace of fond memories, of her best friend guiding her. _

_ Akko waited for a moment, slinging her blades over her shoulder as she stared at the red wooden door that she had gone through daily for almost her whole life. She reached forward, her hand hesitating over the tarnished golden doorknob, and stopped. _

_ This was no longer home. _

_ So she turned, tears wetting her eyes and her cheeks as she slung her guitar over her back, grabbed the suitcase, and went on her way to nowhere. _

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t comin.

Or the moment of truth in your lies.

When everything feels like the movies,

Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive.

_ A teen on a skateboard tossed a loonie into her guitar case, throwing her a thumbs up as he took off down the sidewalk, weaving around tourists and white collar businessmen. Very few others paid her any sort of attention, either letting their children play in the fountain in the middle of the small park or hustling to the Hockey Hall of Fame or St. Lawrence’s. Still, it was as good a place as any to play her guitar for a few bucks. No regulation against it, anyway. Well, as far as she knew. _

_ She glanced at her guitar case as she strummed. Almost ten dollars. That would be enough to get her a meal from Tim’s and a stamp for the letter she’d been waiting to send to Diana. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked back down, focused, and sang. _

And I don’t want the world to see me.

‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.

When everything’s meant to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am.

_ She wondered, often, how Diana was doing. If she’d acclimated to her new home, if Aunt Daryl was treating her well, if she was able to find a place to skate regularly. _

_ If she thought of Akko, too. _

_ She hadn’t heard from her, yet,but that was alright. It wasn’t as though Akko had an address, which she’d pointed out in her letters, and she couldn’t afford a phone and the only computers were at the public library, which she couldn’t use without a membership. _

_ But, hopefully, when she found herself somewhere stable, she’d have a place for Diana to write her, and they could catch up on the last three months, or four months, or five months, or however long it took. _

_ It would’ve been nice to at least get a P.O. Box, but they were so expensive there was no way she’d be able to afford it. She was barely getting by with the ten dollar gym subscription to shower and the handful of coins she made playing guitar in the most popular squares of Toronto. The meager amount of money her father gave her was already gone—spent on food when her stomach couldn’t handle the empty any longer and the sleeping bag that barely kept her warm at nights—and so, now, it was just up to her. _

_ At least she could still skate. All she had to do was work off her hours by cleaning the rink or helping out on the busier family nights. But a team still wouldn’t take her—they didn’t want somebody with a tenuous schedule, at best—and it wasn’t as though she could afford the rest of the gear, anyway. _

_ So she just skated. She practiced. And she hoped that, maybe, one day, she’d actually have a team to call her own. _

_ And, hopefully, by then, she’d be able to talk to Diana regularly and everything… well, almost everything, would go back to normal. _

And I don’t want the world to see me.

‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand.

When everything’s meant to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am.

_ Her fingers lingered on the strings as the last chord sang its final melody into the loud, crowded space. No one clapped, no one looked. And why would they? She was just a teenager playing guitar in the park and, for all anyone else knew, it was just to buy herself something nice that her parents wouldn’t get for her. _

_ She squeezed the thought of Okaa-san and Otou-san from her mind, biting down on her lip as she glanced down at her guitar case and the few bills and coins scattered inside. _

_ Scuffed burgundy boots slid into her field of vision, stopping just beside her guitar case. A couple of coins fell from a hand, clanking onto the others. _

_ “Hi.” _

_ Akko looked up to find a guy not much older than her meeting her gaze with a friendly smile. He was tall, lanky, littered with piercings and a few odd tattoos that looked like they’d been done in the kitchen of somebody’s house. A thin goatee, patchy in spots, curled with his lips and he reached up, pushing a few strands of long, curly blonde hair from his eyes. His jeans were old and faded, torn in a few places, and his black t-shirt had a few scattered bleach stains on it. _

_ He did not give her creeper vibes, like the other guy, but she sat up straighter and put on her most solemn face, anyway. She had quickly found out that it was best to be cautious with who she spoke to. In fact, for a teenage girl on the streets alone, it was better to speak to no one at all. _

_ “Hello,” she replied, narrowing her eyes as she stared up at the taller man. _

_ He motioned to the bench beside her and she hesitated before nodding, quickly grabbing her guitar case and flipping it closed, pulling it protectively between her legs. The last thing she needed was to get her lunch money stolen. _

_ “Noticed the sleeping bag on your backpack,” he said, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket before glancing at her, thinking better of it, and returning them without a second thought. His pale blue eyes narrowed as he looked her over curiously. “This is going to sound awkward and super creepy.” He chuckled at himself. “But how old are you?” _

_ “Eighteen,” she shot back quickly, swallowing the lie hard and leaning back against the bench. _

_ He laughed, kicking one heel on top of a knee and spreading his arms out behind him, but not so far as to go anywhere near Akko. “Yeah, alright,” he replied, his gaze traveling to a family proudly flaunting American flag t-shirts as they spun in circles, as though unsure where to go next. “And I’m the King of Prussia.” _

_ Akko’s lips spread into a thin line as she stared at the side of his face. One of his eyebrows was spliced at the edge, a scar from an old piercing. “Prussia doesn’t exist anymore,” she mumbled. _

_ He laughed again. A full, hearty laugh that almost relaxed Akko. “I’m very happy that you chose to debate the legitimacy of Prussia instead of me being a king.” One arm crossed over his body, his thin, bony fingers held out to her. “Louis.” _

_ “Um—” Akko hesitated. Her real name, or something else? She let out a sigh, gently taking the tips of his fingers in her own and offering the smallest of shakes. “Akko,” she said. _

_ “I’ve seen you out here a few times,” he said as his arm fell back to his side. The toe of his boot bounced against his knee as he rocked it. “Good place to make a few bucks, eh?” _

_ “I guess.” _

_ “Look.” He let his leg drop and leaned forward, planting bony elbows on his knees as he brought his hands together and looked down. “I know it’s a little weird for a random guy to come up and talk to you, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He glanced at her and, receiving no response, began fishing in his front pocket. From it he drew what looked like a flyer, printed in black and white, and unfolded it carefully before holding it out to her. _

_ She took it gently, her eyes falling on the print only momentarily before looking back up. _

**_TORONTO LGBTQ YOUTH SAFE SHELTER_ **

**_A NOT-FOR-PROFIT ORGANIZATION_ **

_ “Not to assume, or anything,” he said quickly. “I mean, we really try to welcome everybody, you know? So it doesn’t matter if you’re not.” His fingers closed around his knees once more and he rocked back, watching the family as they ventured off toward the market. “But I’ve been volunteering there for a couple years. They helped me out when I was, you know…” He frowned, gesturing at her guitar case. “In your position.” _

_ Akko lowered the flyer to her lap. Blinked up. _

_ “We don’t have any beds open or anything,” he went on, lifting dark eyes to smile sadly at her. “But we don’t turn anybody away, and if you’ve got your own sleeping bag… well.” He shrugged. “Hot meals and lukewarm showers and a place off the streets is as good as most people can ask for, right?” _

_ He rose, tugging at the bottom of his shirt as he turned to regard Akko. He looked down, dug into his other pocket, and fished out a few loonies to hold out to her. “Corner of Church and Wellesley,” he said, dropping it into Akko’s open palm. His smile grew wider, genuine. “And if you do come, Akko, tell them King Louis of Prussia sent you,” he finished, offering a goofy salute as he stepped backwards and out of her personal space before turning and walking away altogether. _

_ Akko watched him go before looking back down at the flyer in her hands. And as she sat there, with the heat of the Canadian summer pulling trickles of sweat down the sides of her temples, the unfamiliar, warm feeling of hope began to spread through her. Right there, she made up her mind. _

_ She would go. _

_ … Right after she bought an international stamp to tell Diana the good news. _

* * *

The dorm was dark when Akko finally pushed her way in, save for the small night-light that cast a faint, light-blue glow over Angel’s food and water bowls. She pulled her guitar from her back, gently leaning it against the coat rack as she stamped snow from her shoes in the entryway.

It was silent, save for the sounds of outside life—laughter, loud music, distant cars—lifting to their floor and a rumbling chirp from Akko’s room as Angel woke and made her way into the living space.

“Diana?” Akko called, her frozen fingers smacking for the lightswitch in the kitchen. The industrial bulbs flickered slowly to life above her.

There was no response. Akko turned, eyes following the usual signs that Diana would be home. A coat on the rack.. She’d been wearing leather, right? Her knit cap hung over the top? No. Keys on the counter by the door. Not there, either. The ball of duct tape that Akko had left on the counter earlier was on the floor now, clearly having served as a brief toy for Angel, who was slinking drowsily from Akko’s room with her tail swaying above her.

Akko crept across the carpet, quite aware of the mess she was making with her shoes, and gently rapped the back of her knuckles against Diana’s bedroom door.

“Diana?”

There was no answer. She hesitated, knocking gently one more time.

“Diana? Are you in there?”

There was no sound from the other side of the door. She took a deep breath before letting her hand fall to the knob to turn and push, swearing loudly as Angel bolted through her legs and into the forbidden room.

“Dammit, Angel!” she cursed, huffing through her nose as she watched her little cat creep over to Diana’s desk and begin sniffing around and rubbing her body against the chair. But she made no move to fetch her cat as she glanced around the room, knowing right away that Diana was not there, that she likely  _ hadn’t _ been there. The orange light of the inner courtyard’s streetlamps crept through her open curtains and blinds, bathing the room in a cozy glow that only brought more comfort with the heavy layer of snow and drifting banks that covered the ground outside. Her bed was made, grey blankets folded tidily over a navy blue comforter, matching pillows stacked neatly against a cushioned black headboard.

Her desk held very little. A laptop, plugged in and closed. A small table lamp. An Anatomy textbook lying to the side. There wasn’t much else. Even the walls were bare—not that Akko expected much else, since putting anything on the walls was against the university housing regulations—but her eyes did catch one thing that she hadn’t noticed a moment before.

On Diana’s bed, squeezed between the pillows, was a small, fluffy white unicorn. The soft hair was matted from years of age, and the once purple horn had faded, but the very sight of it made a lump work its way into Akko’s throat.

Akko had won her that unicorn—after, like, a million tries at that stupid rigged game—at a traveling carnival long before Diana’s mother passed, long before Diana left, long before their lives split into two very different directions.

She had forgotten about that unicorn. She fought the impulse to reach out, to touch it, to pull it to her chest and breathe deep the years of being held so close to Diana, but instead she seized Angel by the scruff and stepped back out of the room, closing the door behind her and dropping Angel back to the floor of the living area. She turned to look at Angel, whose eyes squinting as though betrayed, before sitting down and licking her paw.

Akko glanced around one last time before pulling her phone from her back pocket.

She had a message from Lotte:

_ LY: Akko, where’d you go? Everything okay? _

And maybe would have replied—maybe—if the blinking notification of another message didn’t catch her eye first.

_ DC: I had to go. I apologize. _

She licked her lips, her eyes lingering on the message for a moment before shoving her phone back into her pocket with a disgruntled sigh. Maybe she was at Andrew’s or… well, not Hannah’s, because Hannah was still at the bar. She racked her brain for who else Diana possibly knew, eyes squinting as they followed the movement of her little tuxedo cat across the dorm, following the angled stream of moonlight, back into Akko’s room.

Her gaze stopped at the broken skates she’d tossed carelessly just inside her door and, with breath that broke in a stifled gasp in her throat, realized exactly where Diana was.

* * *

Akko shivered hard into Diana’s rider jacket as she keyed in the pin code to the rink, stamping her frozen toes while she waited for the familiar click of the doors unlocking. She slid quickly inside, anxious to get out of the cold and into, well, less cold, and blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust to the darkness.

It had been hours since the last person left the rink—likely the janitorial staff or one of the late-shift concession tenders—and the floors smelled of cleaner as she stepped cautiously forward. Shadows fell over the limited number of bleachers that were rarely full even for the men’s games, stretching upwards in angled patterns to the high walls that led to the rink and locker rooms. The only lights came from concession machines—the ever-glowing advertisement of popcorn and slushie drinks—and Akko blinked quickly away from the bold irritation of colors.

But there was light. From where she stood, she could see that a portion of the large industrial lights had been turned on above the rink, bringing to life gently wavering banners from the many years of Luna Nova hockey championship seasons. And, barely, if she listened past the gentle humming from the concession machines, she could hear blades slicing and scraping against ice, rhythmic and repetitive.

Akko buried her fists into Diana’s jacket, flexing her fingers to try to get some circulation to her cold hands, and kicked the snow from her converse before walking slowly forward. She rounded the main wall, the one that vendors used to try to sell t-shirts or skates or Luna Nova trinkets for cheering on teams, until she was standing behind the wall and the tall layer of plexiglass that separated her from the ice and the lone girl who skated.

Diana was not doing anything fancy. Her back was upright, her legs stiff as they fell into the natural crossovers of practiced ease, and her arms draped, hardly moving, at her sides. She skated backwards, her eyes trained down and on the fronts of her bright white boots, occasionally falling to a single edge to dance in the other direction before performing a simple, single-rotation jump.

She looked gorgeous with her long, golden hair glistening beneath the bright lights as it swayed around cold-dusted cheeks. Her leather jacket from earlier had been tossed over the wall on the opposite side of the rink and she wore nothing more than an untucked white blouse, the sleeves carefully rolled up, and dark jeans that she’d pulled down over the laces of her boots. She still wore her knit cap, the fuzzy white ball on top swaying with each turn, with each jump.

But this wasn’t how Akko had ever seen Diana skate before. There was no passion, no drive. It was like a slow, distorted riff in the middle of a clean, upbeat song, staggering but captivating in its difference.

Akko took a deep breath and stepped through the player’s benches, pulling her hands from her pockets and placing them against the cold door to the rink. She did a small hop and leapt, her knees banging gracelessly against the sides as she jumped over like she had in hockey so many times before.

Except she was not wearing skates.

She was wearing old shoes where the soles were so worn that the stitching was breaking through, and as soon as they touched the slick, polished ice, her legs flew out from beneath her and she nearly crashed down.

One arm gripped the wall hard, her bicep flexing as she barely held herself up, feet spinning beneath her like a cartoon character until she had maintained enough momentum to slowly pull her body back up in long, shuddering gasps for air.

“Akko?”

She looked up, her chest heaving, to find Diana coasting to a stop as she stared at her from across the rink.

All at once Akko did not know what to say, what to do. She was as frozen as the ice beneath her feet and she merely straightened up, running a hand through her greasy hair, tousling dark brunette strands across the high shoulders of Diana’s jacket, and flashing an insecure grin that did little to hide her anxiety.

“Uh, hey,” Akko choked out, shoes skimming the ice once more as she slammed her other arm down on the wall and leaned hard against it.

Diana pushed off with a toe pick, tucking her other blade perpendicular behind the other as she skated forward, tiny shards of ice cutting out from the sides of her sharpened skates as she drew herself to a tense, upright stop.

Her eyes fell on Akko. Tears glistened over bright cerulean eyes and Akko could see the thin rivers that had carved themselves down her cheeks, disappearing beneath her sharp jawline.

The beat of her heart quickened in her chest, throbbing against her ribs and lungs, and the flames of fear surged through her blood as Diana met her gaze, lingered, and said, in a raspy voice that held so much hurt that Akko suddenly realized exactly how thin was the ice on which they stood—

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

—and she only hoped that it wouldn’t crack more than it already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `IRIS - GOO GOO DOLLS`
> 
> casual reminder that this is an ~unplanned~ fic and i write it on the fly with only a few things i've got up my sleeve that i'll probably forget. uh... that said if you find any loose ends or continuity that isn't quite matching up I'll tie it up/fix it eventually. it's around chapter 11/12 that i usually get confused as heck with everything i'm doing.
> 
> also thank you sooo much for the support of this fic!
> 
> p.s. if there are any typos, i will blame these on spaz, who decided that he suddenly knows how to jump up on my desk. nugget can take the chapter off.


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